Shadow's City
by lordlink13
Summary: "Joker's Shadow" Sequel: Brought together for the first time in years only to be pulled apart. Shadow remembers nothing; all traces of memory erased. She leaves Arkham and joins the side of law and order. Chaos isn't happy; the Joker wants her back. JokerxOC
1. Encounter

**Lordlink13: Because I love my readers (and the many cookies I received for bribery), I'll tell ya that I've already decided before I was even halfway through **_**Joker's Shadow**_** that I'd write a sequel. It was only a matter of **_**getting**_** there…and a whole lot of crumpled up paper to get good enough ideas to work with. The Joker wasn't helping, bouncing around the room and particularly screaming at the top of his lungs of how he wanted Shadow back. I love him for it, though. And let me tell you, just like **_**Joker's Shadow**_**, **_**Shadow's City**_** had a difficult beginning – meaning difficult to write. I didn't know who to start with and what to do with them. Mr. J's telling me to stop talking and to get on with the story, which I shall, because I know you care more about the story rather than me. *winks* I mean, some of you were tempted to kill me for leaving the previous story as an evil cliffie. *grins* Mr. J didn't like it either. Torturing him is so much **_**fun**_**.**

**

* * *

**The night guard had checked every room, turning the lights down for dimness though the cells themselves were dark. This was Arkham Asylum; the patients were never allowed to be in complete darkness for concern of how they would handle it and what they might _do_ to themselves.

I leaned over the sink, my hands gripping the edges tightly. I glared into my reflection in the mirror – even I was surprised they let me use one while being in a cell – hating what I was seeing.

The dim lights from the hallway weren't that great, but I've looked at the mirror so many times to know what I was seeing quite clearly.

A woman, in her mid-twenties maybe, stared back at me. She had a decent face, no freckles, nice skin with a high forehead. Red straight hair tumbled around her head, curving behind her small ears. Her eyes were a gentle blue, and despite the black circles under them, she looked awake and intelligent. She looked normal, but as I scowled at her, she returned the scowl, her bushy eyebrows frowning.

What I hated was the fact that I had to look at my reflection and _not_ know who I was.

I don't know what happened; all of my memories have been erased. My first memory was waking up in the intensive care wing of the hospital where I was surrounded by doctors and nurses. They had told me that the police had found me. Someone had bashed my head in with a metal bat and had left me to die.

Maybe it was a sense of déjà vu, but I _think_ I've heard that before. Not the bashing my head in, no, I mean the last part, of someone leaving me to die.

It didn't matter what they told me. The more questions they answered, the more questions they proposed. According to them, the professionals, it's a miracle that I was still alive.

Not to mention that I had managed to heal completely over a month…well, almost. My head had been in bandages while I sat in court, awaiting whether I'd go to one place or the other. The pain in my head wouldn't allow me to remember anything that happened during the trial, but I do remember asking my attorney if I could have a rubber band to play with.

I released the sink and raised my hands, watching them as they gradually began to tremble. The doctors said it was some nerves that got messed up with the head wound, but over the past few weeks, they shook less and less, as long as I gave them something to do, whether it was eating, drawing, or twiddling my thumbs.

Looking up at my reflection again, I thought the same thing that I always thought when I look in the mirror, after the self-hatred: _Who am I? What's my name? What's my age?_

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to search the depths of my mind. My hearing caught a high-pitched ringing noise, one I _knew_ that no one else heard. It always came whenever I tried to dredge my memories, like it was guarding those memories that I have been told that they weren't just out of my reach; they had been _wiped_, without a trace.

I clenched the edges of the sink as a wave of emotion overcame me. I stiffened as tears slipped from under my eyelids. This always happened, whenever I tried. I _wanted_ to know who I was; my sacrifice was losing control, losing to my overwhelming emotions, emotions I didn't understand.

It started to hurt, and I gave up, relaxing my grip on the sink. I opened my eyes and then wiped them with the sleeve of my jumpsuit. As I looked up at my mirror again, I caught sight of someone standing near my door.

I glanced over my shoulder, and sure enough, a guard was standing there, watching me. "Sorry," I said quietly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice husky. I didn't recognize his voice and wondered if Arkham had gotten a night guard-in-training. Squinting at him, I tried to make out his face, but his face was shadowed with the dim light behind him. He waited for a few moments before repeating his question, sounding slightly irritated. "Are you o-_kay_?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, stepping away from the sink and moving toward my cot. I kept my gaze on him, suddenly unsure if he _was_ a guard or not. The night guard usually moved on by now, but this one, he simply stood there, watching my every move.

I sat down on the cot and propped myself against the wall, wishing he would just leave. He stood there for a few more moments before turning slowly and moving on.

I exhaled, realizing that I had been holding my breath, but my relief didn't last long. The night guard would no doubt write about this in his report, and it would get to my doctor. I would be questioned about my nightly activities, even though this didn't occur often. This was the _last_ thing I ever wanted to be questioned about by an callous doctor.

I settled back against the wall and closed my eyes, pressing my head against the cool cement surface. My head began to throb with the aftermath of my emotional stress. It tormented me that I couldn't find any memories, much more than whenever I try to reach them, it only causes me pain. Because of having my head bashed in with a bat, I've had headaches enough, and they were _quite_ painful, so painful that I would get sick and be unable to eat anything.

Oh, yes, my life was ex-_citing_!

* * *

Five minutes later, the night guard returned, checking inside to see if she was still awake. She had shifted her position and was now lying down on her side, her legs curled up slightly toward her body. He watched her as she slept – and he _knew_ she was asleep because of her deep breathing.

In the shadow of the dim light, a scarred mouth turned up into a satisfied smile. He touched the bars of her door with a hand, his free one clenching the ring of keys at his side. Even as he moved the keys toward the lock, she murmured something in her sleep, slowly turning over onto her other side.

He brought his face close to the bars, straining to hear what she was saying, but he could just _barely_ make out one word: _Jack_.

The smile faded slowly from his scarred lips. He half-turned and hung his head for a few moments before looking in on her again. She had settled down, and was frowning, like she wasn't happy about what she was dreaming.

He didn't want to leave her, but he knew that he had limited time. If the night guard checked his room, he'd sound the alarm, and being put in lock-up wasn't what he had in mind when he only wanted to visit her, to see if she was handling her situation all right. Even if he had to risk, he would, but she'd only been here a few weeks.

It wasn't like he knew if seeing him would spark any memory in her. The Arkham staff purposely kept them apart, like they feared that if they were seen together, they might be in danger, or worse; the two of them would break out and cause trouble throughout Gotham City.

The thought made him grin, his scars peeling his lips away from his teeth, but it only lasted for a short while.

Heaving a deep sigh, he moved away from her cell, disappearing down the hallway. He'd try something tomorrow. Besides, some of the guards could use a little more…_profit_.

* * *

"Good morning," Dr. Keaton said as he entered the interview room, "How are you feeling today?"

I watched him as he sat down across from me. He set a manila folder down with his notepad and took a few moments to look through the contents of the folder – which no doubt was all the information they had on me. He was oblivious, clearly reluctant to be here. He didn't seem to even notice that I hadn't responded to his question.

Finally, he adjusted his round glasses and leaned forward, his clasped hands resting on the papers in my folder, like he was trying to hide them from me. He looked up and quirked an eyebrow, silently repeating his question.

The simple gesture spoke volumes about his character, his callousness, but I had to respond. "Worse."

"Feeling more depressed?" he asked, in a _so_ callous tone. "Even with the medication?"

I was so tempted to say, "_Nah_, Doc, I'm feeling more depressed _with_ the medication", but I held my tongue, knowing that he'd take it seriously…_and_ the wrong way. Instead, I gave him a quick nod.

"Maybe I should give you a higher prescription."

"I don't want to die on an overdose," I said, quickly, "Not after what I've been through."

Hearing this, he gave the _impression_ that he was interested, but I wasn't fooled. "Do you remember?"

"Only what they've told me," I replied, adding – before he could ask who 'they' are – quickly, "Meaning the doctors at the Hospital of Gotham."

Dr. Keaton made a quick note of this, scribbling away on his notepad with ease. While I waited for him, I leaned back and looked about the plain room with white cement walls and dark one-way windows. If only they would add a little color so that I didn't feel like I was in jail…

"Why would you be more depressed?" my callous doctor asked.

"You would be too, if you couldn't remember who you were." My tone was sharp, but seeing his flinch, I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. "Sorry, Dr. Keaton…is there _anything_ that you're allowed to give me, like my files, that I could look at, see if I remember anything?"

He closed my manila folder and placed his elbows on it, his clasped hands before him. "I'm afraid not," he replied with ease, like he thought he was the one in control. "You haven't remembered anything during your stay here?"

I sighed. "All I know is my name is Jane McKinley, and I'm…about twenty-four. And I'm here for _more_ than just my memory loss," I added, shaking my handcuffs that were chained to the metal table, which in turn were bolted down. "I don't know _what_ I've done, but it must have been something terrible to land me in a place that seems _too_ much like a prison."

Dr. Keaton was silent as I rubbed my knuckles, with my eyes down on the table. He noted my actions, or my response, or even my comment about the place, and then leaned forward over the table. "Do you _know_ where you are, Ms. McKinley, for starters?"

"An asylum," I replied after a moment's thought. "I can tell by the _screams_ that I can hear every night."

He gave no negative reaction – or positive, for that matter. "Do they bother you?" he asked. "These screams? Are they the reason you can't sleep?"

"No, they are background music…_uncalled_ for, but they're not the reason. I just can't sleep. I'm exhausted, but…my mind keeps racing, like I'm trying to click the pieces into place so that I know who I am." Then, I narrowed my eyes, realizing that my psychiatrist hadn't told me where I was, not even _hinted_. I disliked him even more for that. "Where _am_ I exactly?" I asked.

Without hesitation, Dr. Keaton replied coolly, "Arkham Asylum of the Criminally Insane."

"I'm criminally insane?" The concept was interesting, but amusing. My mouth twitched. "That doesn't really explain the handcuffs, the chains, and the bars along the walls. I can understand if I had an irresistible impulse to hurt someone." I raised my eyebrows slightly, noting how nervous my psychiatrist had suddenly become. "Everything okay, Doc?"

"Yes, everything's fine," he replied, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat as he opened my folder and flipped a page. I glanced at the one-way windows, squinting to see if I might see what Dr. Keaton had seen…or heard. He could be wearing a mic in his ear and had been informed of something that might make him nervous around me.

I wondered if it was about my encounter with the night guard from last night, but why would me having a breakdown during the night make Dr. Keaton nervous?

I turned my attention back to him and could tell by the way his eyes darted from side to side over the page that he was absorbed into what he was reading.

I decided to ask while he was distracted. "Dr. Keaton, am I _allowed_ to ask what you think my condition is?" I asked, "Besides the amnesia."

He jumped slightly, startled out of his intense reading. "Um, yes, you can." He looked down at my papers again before suddenly lifting his head. "I mean, _no_, that's classified information."

"How is it classified from me?" I asked, losing control. "I don't a _single_ thing about myself, and you're keeping information that could _spark_ something. Classified from _me_. I see how it is." I rolled my head on my shoulders, cracking my neck. "That's okay, _don't_ tell me. I have a _creative_ imagination that I put to use quite often when it concerns things that my jerk of a _doctor_ who doesn't care about me, his patient, and doesn't _tell_ me anything!" He flinched as I continued. "At least it keeps me from losing it."

He blinked and leaned forward slightly, this time really _trying_ to be interested, as he explained, "I'm sorry, Ms. McKinley, but it was a suggestion on Dr. Arkham's behalf that we withhold information from you so that you will remember things on your own. We…_I_ am here to help you deal with the _emotions_ of having to try figuring things out on your own. You can't say that I don't care about your welfare."

"My _welfare_ isn't the same thing as _me_," I snapped.

He leaned back, trying to put as much distance between us as he could without being obvious – though he was _quite_ obvious to me. "Then let me help _you_," he said, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. "I've told you at our first session, that in order for me to help you-."

"I needed to open up to you, I know," I finished, rolling my eyes. "I don't need _help_, Dr. Keaton. Even if I'm in an asylum for the criminally insane, that doesn't mean that _I'm_ insane. This has nothing to do with my _mental_ health; this is about me being dangerous enough to be put in handcuffs" – I jiggled them in front of his face – "And about my loss of memory, or I should've said, _lack_ of."

"This could now be about your mental health, Ms. McKinley," Dr. Keaton said.

I narrowed my eyes and dropped some of my hostility. "What makes you say that?"

He cleared his throat and explained, "You just said that it was your imagination that kept you from losing it. What exactly did you mean?"

"Whoa, you _were_ paying attention," I said, widening my eyes in mock surprise. A frown appeared on his face, disapproving of my mockery. "I could mean many things. Who _wouldn't_ go insane listening to screams every night, or being locked in their room all day, for six days a week, with only their doctor for company, for only an hour?" I dropped my gaze to my hands, realizing that they were shaking from the aftermath of my anger outburst. I started rubbing my knuckles again as I said, "But that's what you decided was best for me, isn't it, Dr. Keaton?"

He didn't reply, but I could hear his pen scribbling down notes onto his pad. I lifted my head and asked, "Wanna know how I spend my days?"

"Sure," he said, without looking up from what he was writing. The callousness was back, making me frown with displeasure, but he continued. "You've been here for over a month and must have fallen into a regular schedule."

"Not really," I responded. "Sure, I know the times for the meals. The rattle of the food carts is the ringing of the school bell. And whenever the guard comes to get me, I know I'm going to see and talk to you. Lights out tells me when to go to sleep, and lights on are for waking up. My waking hours consist of eating, drawing, thinking, and exercising, though I'm very limited in exercises in such a small room."

"That's the typical size, Ms. McKinley. We treat our patients fairly."

"More like prisoners of war," I murmured under my breath, rebelliously.

"What was that?"

I shrugged. "I've formed a habit of talking to myself quietly too. Ya know, so I don't forget how to _talk_." I was losing my patience in being with my doctor, the man who didn't care about anything I had to say. He made no effort to help, and I hated it.

Dr. Keaton sensed my irritation. He put down his pen and looked at me, taking off his glasses. "Your mood swings are being affected by your lack of sleep, Ms. McKinley. Perhaps we call this session to an end, and if you wish, we can continue either later today or tomorrow, after you have rested a bit."

"Whatever you say, _Doctor_." I was done with being polite, and he could tell.

"Scott will return you to your cell, and one of the inmates will give you some sleeping pills," Dr. Keaton continued as the guard entered the room, "To help you."

I ignored him as Scott freed my handcuffs from the table, clipping them to a ring on his belt with a chain. To my surprise, the guard produced a leather collar that he buckled around my neck.

"What's _that_ for?" I demanded. The collar had two chains, one that connected to Scott's belt and the other that he attached to the never-ending bar that resided on both sides of all the hallways in the asylum.

"Extra precaution," the guard replied as he pulled me out into the hallway. We headed back toward my cell.

I really wanted a different doctor, maybe someone who would be sympathetic toward me and my condition, someone who would actually _tell_ me some things, or just _hint_ at them so I can try to figure it out with them helping.

I had heard of one patient who had a record of being difficult for many doctors. No one wanted to work with him, and everyone believed that there was no possible way to cure him. I've overheard the guards when they switched posts. The patient was a _very_ popular topic, mainly because he did all sorts of things to get attention, and he didn't seem to do it regularly either.

Doctors, guards, or patients of Arkham Asylum couldn't guess what he would do next or when. Even _he_ claims he doesn't know.

I wondered what I had to do – maybe do something like that one troublesome patient – to get rid of Dr. Keaton so I can get a _better_ doctor, who would _help_ rather than control, like Keaton.

An intern stopped my guard, so I came to a halt behind him. I didn't like the collar on my neck; it was irritating. It was tight enough to touch me, but not enough to choke me. I glared at the chain that attached it to my guard's belt. If I was suicidal, that would be the way I'd try to kill myself, strangle myself with that chain.

Suddenly, there was an abrupt cry from down the hall, and then a burst of sinister laughter. "Oh, come _on_! It's only a _scratch_!" A chill ran down my spine as four security guards ran past, headed for a patient down the hall. I tried to peek over Scott's shoulder, but he purposely blocked my view.

"Careful! He's armed," a guard shouted.

"He's not supposed to be down this hallway!" Scott yelled.

"What? Not allowed?" There was an amused giggle. "Since when was _I_ limited, Scotty?"

"Shut up, clown! Give up! Someone get the knife from him!"

"No!" he crackled. "I wanna know _why_ I'm not allowed down here." His loud voice was moving closer, and Scott stiffened. Even as they came closer, I could spot them over Scott's shoulder, seeing five guards holding onto a struggling patient in a straitjacket.

I blinked, my mouth dropping open slightly. Time seemed to slow as I caught sight of the patient's features.

He appeared to be in his late twenties, his curly dirty blond hair whipping across his face as he struggled against the guards. He was laughing, enjoying this as he jerked his head, his eyes darting like he was searching for something. When his eyes caught mine, I stiffened.

Those brown eyes…so filled with laughter and…_madness_. They haunted me more than the gruesome scars that cut out and up his cheeks, stretching his smile beyond the limits.

His laughter cut off abruptly, and he slid his tongue over his lower lip, grinning wickedly. The movement caught my attention, and I narrowed my eyes. Was that…_familiar_?

My breath caught in my throat, and I reacted like I was choking for a moment. A sharp pain jolted through my head. I raised my hands, clenching my forehead, taking a sharp intake of air through my clenched teeth. I heard him grunt as one of the guards smacked him over the head with a baton, and he hung limply in the others' hold.

They dragged him away, but he still lifted his head, flashing his Glasgow smile at me. I watched him go, despite Scott's attempts to get me moving again. The patient laughed out loud when he saw that I was resisting, and anger shot through me. I started away, following after Scott, but I had to look, to see where they were dragging him.

Before the guards could drag the patient around the corner and out of my sight, he whistled at me to gain my attention, and then gave me a wink. Then, he burst into a fit of laughter as he disappeared.

Back in my cell, I sat down on my cot, rubbing my neck first before moving to my wrists to rub the feeling of the handcuffs off – and to give my hands something to do before they started shaking again. The intern who talked to Scott appeared at my cell, and I retrieved the small paper cup he gave me, the one with my prescription pills, including a sleeping drug to help me relax. I simply set it on my little table and lied down on my cot, my mind wandering over my encounter with the _infamous_ giggling patient.

It seemed interesting that he had been on my mind moments before I crossed paths with him in the hallway. The way he acted as he had struggled, like he was looking for someone, only to find me. His parting action, the wink, couldn't have been something his madness forced him to do. And the idea that he was in the hallway that he wasn't _supposed_ to be in.

Coincidence?

I think not.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Like I said before, this was a difficult chapter to write. I actually needed help from a friend who was kind enough to write part of the scene to see if she could figure out where I was going. Anyone ever have that? Writer's block, when you **_**know**_** what you want to happen, but can't seem to put it down? I wish it didn't exist, but everyone needs to be blocked in something, right? Makes us all stronger in the end. Okay, I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter. Please review! I want to see if I can get more reviews for this story than my first. If that fails…I'll cry. So please take time to review every chapter you read, even if it's a simple "loved this chapter". I'm talking to those people who are lazy or who just catch to whenever we are in the chapter – I'm obviously talking about the future. That's all I'm asking, and for those who **_**aren't**_** lazy, tell me what you think and again give me suggestions, remarks, or critics when you see them pop up. Nobody's perfect. I know **_**I'm**_** not. (And a side note: last book I had said that Emma Stone seemed to fit Shadow, if this was a movie. I've changed my mind. Claire Forlani from **_**The Medallion**_** is **_**totally**_** Shadow.)**


	2. Switching It Up

There was a knock on his cell door, and it opened a few seconds later. Two guards awaited him outside.

"C'mon, clown, you'll be late for your appointment," one guard said, jingling a set of handcuffs.

The Joker opened his eyes without bothering to lift his head from the cool wall. His scarred mouth twisted up into an amused grin. "We wouldn't want-ah _that_ now, _would_ we?" He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of his bed, holding out his wrists for the guard to handcuff him.

The guard attached the handcuffs to a thick leather belt around the Joker's waist, and he led him out. The Joker went willingly, his eyes darting about the corridors of Arkham like he was expecting someone. He looked slightly disappointed as the guards brought him to the door to the interview room, but he openly beamed when he saw his doctor waiting at the table already.

"Maybe I _am_ late," the Joker chuckled. "Sorry 'bout that-ah, _Har_-ley." One of the guards gave him a warning smack in the back of his head.

"Don't do that, Carl," Harleen said. "He's just being funny."

The guard didn't look amused, but he brought the Joker over to the table, sitting him down before leaving the room.

The Joker placed his handcuffed hands on the desk and grinned at his psychologist. "So, Doc, how've yah been since I last _saw_ yah?"

She gave him a serious look, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I'm fine," she replied, tartly.

He winced. "Someone _bother_ you today, Doc?"

"No, not someone, some-_thing_." He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. "I've heard from security that you attacked a guard this morning."

"I didn't _attack_ him. I was _defending_ myself."

"That's not what the report states," Harleen said, slipping a piece of paper from his manila folder. She set it down on top of the folder and folded her hands on it. "You had a knife, J."

"Got it from the guard," the Joker replied.

"Guards aren't allowed to carry knives."

"_This_ one," he said, leaning forward, "Had it hid-_den_ in his boot."

"Do you _really_ consider cutting his ear off self-defense?" she asked seriously.

He shrugged, carelessly. "Maybe I went a _lit_-tle overboard," he murmured.

"What was he doing to you that made you feel that you had to defend yourself?"

The Joker licked his bottom lip, gazing into her eyes. He didn't give a reply to that.

"You know silence isn't going to help your case, J. It just hurts your claim of feeling the need to defend yourself. And it _definitely_ doesn't help the reason why you were headed into a section you weren't allowed in."

"Why aren't I _allowed_ there?" he asked, slyly, lowering his head and looking at her from under his brow.

Harleen swallowed, slightly disturbed by the look. "We can't just let anyone wander Arkham for both their safety and for Arkham's staff's safety."

"When was the _last_ time I hurt someone because I _felt_ like it?" the Joker asked, leaning back in his seat.

"If you can't give a reason why you needed self-defense, then your last time was this _morning_."

The Joker scoffed. "All right, he was threatening me, pulled the knife on me."

"Did you intimidate him?" she asked, intently.

"Me? In-_tim_-idate him?" He leaned forward, widening his eyes. "Do I _look_ like guy who intimidates people, Doc?"

Her mouth twitched, and she covered it with a hand, obviously smiling behind her hand. He leaned back with a satisfied grin. "C'mon, _Har_-ley. You know me _bet_-ter than that."

"They're not going to believe that," Harleen told him. "It would be the guard's word against yours."

"But I'm a man of my word-ah," he protested. "Always _have_ been." Then, he perked up, a thought popping into his head. "Did they catch it on _camera_?"

"What?"

"Yah know, all the cameras they have around this place," the Joker explained, waving his hands to demonstrate, but the effect was lost because of the limit of the handcuffs attached to the thick belt. "Surely they got _footage_ of it."

"The cameras were malfunctioning in that hall."

His eyes widened as his mouth dropped, placing his hands on the table. "What? I can't use that as evidence?"

"No. They still have those guards to witness against you for your reaction _after_ you 'defended' yourself."

"You don't believe me, do yah, Har-_leen_," he said, glumly as he slouched in his chair, hanging his head.

"No, I _do_," Harleen insisted, reaching over and resting a hand on his. He raised his head slightly at the sudden touch, narrowing his eyes. "There's just so…_little_ evidence that would support your story, Mistah J."

He looked up, realizing she had just used her 'caring' voice, using a softer tone to her usual 'psychiatrist' voice. A small smile stretched across his lips. "Maybe the guard will tell the _truth_," he suggested.

She blinked. "Why? No one purposely gets themselves into trouble."

"You're sitting _across_ from one such _per_-son," he giggled. He turned his hand over, clasping hers. It amazed him how _small_ her hand was, too small to fit perfectly. His smile faltered, as he thought of one hand that he _knew_ was the perfect size. "Maybe you could _talk_ to him," he said, lifting his gaze to meet hers. "You're convincing. You've convinced _me_ before." He flashed her a charming smile – the scars almost ruining the effect – but she caught it, blushing slightly.

Then, he pulled his hand away as the door opened behind him. "Time's up, Doc," he exclaimed. "It was nice talking to yah! I already look forward to our _next_ chat!"

After the guards had taken the Joker away, Harleen looked down into her hand, seeing a one-hundred dollar bill. She knew what he wanted her to do: go _convince_ the guard to tell the "truth".

The Joker grinned as he was placed back in his cell. He knew Harleen would understand; she seemed to have the same ability as Peter did. He laughed out loud, thinking himself clever, but he shut himself up.

He lifted his hand, the one Harleen had touched, and a pang of longing passed through him. The smile faded from his face as his hand fell. It didn't matter how much he _wanted_ her back; he couldn't help her while they were both in Arkham.

But what did he have to _wait_ for? Until her memory returned or one of them got released? No one was going to release him. Why were they holding her here? It had nothing to do with her mental health; it was only because of her ability.

The Joker narrowed his eyes, remembering the image of her, chained, like a dog, to her guard and to the newly installed bar in the hallways. His hands clenched. Sure, he knew that's all the staff of Arkham could think of to stop her from shadowing, but why would she, if she didn't even _remember_?

Someone knocked on his cell door, but he didn't look up this time, waiting for them to enter. "You know, clown, someone's going to tell."

"As if _that_ worries me," the Joker growled. "Is the camera off?"

"Lyle's frozen the picture on you, and the sound's off, yes."

"Where is she?"

"Heading down to the showers." The intern shifted his weight uneasily. "You're not gonna-."

"No!" the Joker snapped, lifting his head and glaring at the man. "Who do you _think_ I am?" The intern stammered, but the Joker continued. "Don't answer that. She's not who I'm after."

"Then who-?"

The Joker stared at the man, silencing him. He turned his head and stared at the wall for a moment, his tongue tracing his bottom lip. Who _was_ he after? Ignoring the uneasy intern, he looked at his hands, returning to the thought he was having before the intern inter-_rupted_ him.

Who was responsible for placing Shadow in chains, treating her like she was an animal? It made the Joker angry that someone in _Arkham_ would allow some callous doctor do that to a patient who wasn't really a patient. Callous doctor…

"Who's Shadow's doctor?" the Joker asked.

"Um, Shadow?"

He glared at the man. "_Sorry_, I meant Ms. _McKinley's_ doctor." He recognized the name as one of Shadow's aliases over the years of her criminal life, but why didn't she remember her _real_ name? It was probably the most recent one that she's used, before she came to Gotham only four months ago.

"Um, Dr. Keaton," the intern said, hesitantly.

"Yeah, that's him," the Joker said, grinning. He rubbed his hands together and said, "I have a _need_ to, ah, to _speak_ with him." He stood up and sauntered toward the intern. "You've done your job. Now, for me to pay you…" The intern's eyes widened, and he turned to run out of the cell. The Joker was faster, grabbing him by the back of his white coat and pulling him back into the cell, slamming his head against the wall. He dropped the unconscious intern on the floor and crouched beside him, tilting his head as he played with his mouth. "You don't have to _worry_ ah-bout losing your internship here, _Larry_."

He giggled and then left his cell.

* * *

Hot water ran over my face as I rinsed my hair, turning my head this way and that, running my hands through the wet strands to be rid of the shampoo. It was generous of the Arkham staff to allow patients to shower either every other day or every three days. To be honest, it was the _only_ thing I had to look forward to, those ten minutes under running water. I could ignore the fact that there was a female guard waiting right outside the stall. It was an escape from my cell, from the loneliness, from the screams I could hear.

I could even escape from my personal hatred and fury from not knowing who I was.

I finished rinsing my hair and simply stood there, letting the water run over my body, allowing me to relax. I purposely finished with two minutes left to enjoy this solitude, this peace from my troubling thoughts. It was like my mediating moment, thinking of nothing, letting my mind be free, detaching from my emotions.

Unfortunately, I didn't have enough time to detach for long. The female guard – Penny, her name was – rapped on the shower door, and I sighed. "What?"

"I'm sorry, McKinley, but we have to cut your shower short." At that exact moment, the water shut off, and again, I sighed.

I stepped out onto the mat and dried myself off before dressing in the clean clothes Penny handed me. She stood nearby, her eyes averted as I dressed, and when I was ready, I cleared my throat.

"Sorry about this, McKinley," she said, attaching my handcuffs and collar to her belt.

"Don't be," I said, "It's just my doctor's idea. I don't like it, but I can't refuse when I don't know his reasoning."

Penny nodded and led me out into the hallway, attaching my other chain to the sidebar. We proceeded down the hall, only to stop when two male guards came around the corner, calling for Penny to stop.

"Where has she been?" one of the guards demanded, glancing at me with hostility.

"With me," Penny retorted, sharply. "I'm bringing her back to her cell. What happened, Lyle? I got a call to bring her back early."

"One of the patients escaped from his cell," the guard answered, still watching me closely, like he didn't trust me. Of course, why _would_ anyone if I was dangerous? How did I know I was dangerous, why _else_ did you think they put chains and handcuffs on me?

Penny hesitated, and then spoke in a whisper. I tried leaning in to hear, but the male guard, Lyle, glared at me so I busied myself with trying to adjust the handcuffs. I saw the other guard nod at what Penny had said, and she stiffened.

"What has he done?" Penny asked, quietly, but not in the whisper so I could hear her.

"Went to Dr. Keaton's office and stabbed him with his pen," Lyle replied in a normal volume. I stiffened, eyes widening slightly. Did they think _I_ had done that to Dr. Keaton? With difficulty, I kept the smile from reaching my face. Sounded like someone _else_ had something against Dr. Keaton.

"Is my doctor okay?" I asked, my voice small in the attempt to hide my secret joy.

"Unfortunately, no," the other guard replied. "Too many stab wounds."

I lowered my eyebrows, frowning. "Who did it?" I asked, my voice suddenly hard. Not that I cared, but I wanted to know who I can thank later.

The three guards looked at one another, uncertainly. "Some psychotic," Lyle said. "He's in lock-up now."

I hung my head. "Poor Doctor Keaton," I said, quietly. I looked up shyly – all part of the act. "Who'll be my doctor now?"

"They'll find someone for you, Ms. McKinley," Penny said, turning and putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. It shocked me, the sudden show of concern, but I didn't let my surprise show.

"Get her to her cell," Lyle told Penny. "I'm sure they'll have a doctor for you soon," he added to me, a bit kinder than before. I narrowed my eyes slightly, suspicious of his sudden change. I didn't think it was just Penny's show of sympathy.

Penny started down the hallway again, me behind her, but I kept my eyes on Lyle until he was out of view. He just grinned at me before turning away.

I sat in my cell for half an hour before someone came to get me. I was brought to the interview room for the second time that day, where I was again chained to the table with just my handcuffs. Who I assumed was my new doctor was already waiting for me.

It was a woman, named Dr. Young. She must have been in her middle twenties, her black hair pulled back into a bun. She had my manila folder on the table, but it was closed and off to the side. When I had entered the room, she gave me a warm smile, and I narrowed my eyes, distrusting the affection beginning. Dr. Keaton had done the same thing, looked nice and pleasant before turning cold on me.

My guard stood just behind me, and Dr. Young looked up at him. "You may leave us," she said.

"Are you sure?" the guard asked.

"We're fine. Aren't we, Jane?" She looked at me expectantly, and I blinked.

"Um, sure," I said, uncertainly. No one had called me by my first name; it was always 'Ms. McKinley'. Dr. Young had caught me by surprise.

"All right, I'll be just outside if you need anything," my guard said before leaving the room.

"Jane, I'm going to be your new doctor. My name's Dr. Young."

"I could tell by the nametag," I stated, simply. "Will you be different from Dr. Keaton, is what I'm wondering."

"All the doctors here have their own method of curing a patient."

"I'm not suffering from some mental problem, Dr. Young," I said. "I just have a lack of memories prior to my waking up in the hospital."

She arched an eyebrow. "Is that _all_ you know, Jane?"

I chewed on my lower lip. "Dr. Keaton didn't tell me anything about what he – or Arkham, for that matter – knew. I know a few things, like my name, age, what happened, and where I am, but that's about it."

"He was using his method of letting you remember on your own. The method never works unless the subject is prompted." Dr. Young finally told my folder and opened it. "I'll start with the basics that we have, that you know before I go into what you don't know. I won't go into detail. This is just to see if it will trigger anything for you. Just tell me the first thing that comes to mind when I saw something." She scanned the information, looking for the first bit. "Jane McKinley."

"My name," I said.

"Twenty-four."

"My age."

"Bat."

"Hit by a metal bat."

"Criminal."

"I guess that's why I'm handcuffed," I said, frowning.

"Four."

Without thinking, I said, "Years…"

Dr. Young looked up at me. "Years, Jane?" she asked.

"Four years…it means something." I frowned, intently trying to think of _what_ it meant. "I can think of three words that go with it. Four years, age four, and four percent."

Dr. Young blinked with surprise. "Do you know your medical record?"

I shook my head. "I've heard 'four percent' being said a number of times. I don't know what it means, but it sounded bad."

"How do you know?"

"The doctors saying it sounded very concerned when they said it." I met her gaze and asked, "Is that _bad_?"

"It was," she replied, leaning forward. "You weren't awake for most of it, but the hospital had said that you only had a four percent chance of living after what had happened to you." My mouth dropped open slightly. "It was a miracle that you managed to pull through, when your percentage of survival had been decreasing so rapidly…"

She stopped, seeing the expression on my face. "Are you feeling all right, Jane? You're looking pale."

Nervously, I licked my lips, wetting them. "No, I'm okay, Doctor. It's just…_strange_ to have someone explain things to me."

She smiled gently, her eyes warm. "I'm your doctor now, Jane. It must be an emotional strain on you to not know who you are and to have no memories. I don't mean to speak about my…colleague this way, but he wasn't using the correct method for you."

"Not to mention being unsympathetic," I murmured.

"I'm here for you now, Jane. I will try my best to understand what you're going through, and I promise to help you, to the best of my ability."

After the interview, I lied on my cot, facing the wall and sliding my finger along the little tracks the cement blocks made. I really _did_ have to find out who got rid of Dr. Keaton and thank him. Sure, it wasn't really the right thing, but I didn't feel sympathetic for the doctor who did _nothing_ for me. I liked Dr. Young…so far. I wasn't going to trust her with everything just yet; I've only had my first interview with her. But if anyone is going to help me, as far as I know, it'd be Dr. Young.

* * *

The Joker sat in lock-up, still wearing the straitjacket. He leaned against the wall, his eyes darting about the very dull room. He didn't know how long he was going to stay in here this time, but he had the sense that it was worth it. Shadow might have it easier now. Hopefully, Dr. Arkham was smart enough to switch it up and give her a better doctor, or once he got out of lock-up, the Joker would have to go for a visit to Jeremiah Arkham.

For the time being, he rested, closing his eyes and simply _thinking_. It was his only way to avoid boredom in lock-up since he had to be quiet or stay in there longer. Either way, he was content. And with any luck, Shadow was too.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Aw, he cares about her. I think it's cute, I don't know about the rest of you. So this is chapter two, uploaded on a week from the first. I'm going to keep that up, like the first book, so don't rush me. I'm still trying to figure out what's going on in the story, but I'll figure it out, don't you doubt me. I hope you enjoyed this and **_**really**_** hope you review before you get back to your regular life schedule.**


	3. Hypnotherapy

The changes occurred quickly, but since I had wanted an alteration to my depressing life – and even _that_ is an understatement – I took each adjustment with ease.

Starting from our first conversation, Dr. Young visited me every day after lunch. I wasn't the only topic we talked about either, which was nice. I didn't know much about anything outside of Arkham so Dr. Young filled me in about sports and the news – depressing as it was with all the criminals running lose. She revealed a bit of herself to make me more comfortable with her; her name was Teresa, had a boyfriend, worked at Arkham for over two years now, had dealt with a number of violent psychotics so she was grateful to work with me.

Dr. Young was kind and patient with me, trying to prompt me with minor details from my records. She threw words at me, trying to spark a thought or a memory, to which I would return a word without an explanation. However, despite how comfortable I felt with her, I still didn't open up. I felt like I had betrayed something from the first time, with the word "four".

She wanted me to feel more at home so she continually pressured the head of the asylum to give me more freedom. With his permission, I accompanied Dr. Young through the halls or in her office for our sessions, avoiding the interview room – much to my relief. A guard (Penny or Scott, depending on their shifts) was also present for such sessions, until Dr. Arkham finally accepted her request to remove our third companion.

"I apologize, Jane," she said, on a walk toward her office. "I tried to remove the collar too, but Dr. Arkham would only let me free you so much."

I shrugged. "I'm actually getting used to it." I gave her a side glance and added quickly, "Not that I _enjoy_ having it. I just don't _mind_ it as much."

"Since you arrived at Arkham, we've started a new research to find another system for you." We arrived at her office, and she took out her keys to unlock the door.

I narrowed my eyes curiously. "Who's paying for the research? Is it expensive?"

"Yes, it is," she replied, opening her door. I followed her in, and she closed the door before catching my hands. She used her keys to undo my handcuffs.

"You sure that's a good idea?" I said, becoming uneasy. No one took my handcuffs off unless I was in my cell. Despite the relief, my hands shook, and I rubbed my knuckles, trying to calm myself before I had hysterics.

"There's no reason to treat you like an animal, Jane." She set my handcuffs and collar down on her desk, and she moved over to her filing cabinets. "Make yourself comfortable."

I sat down in the cushioned chair across from hers, and even though I had been in this office multiple times, I looked around, taking in the familiar environment.

"As for the answer to your question, our generous contributor is Mr. Bleak, a gentleman who has a strong opinion about how we're dealing with your ability." She was too busy searching through her files to notice my reaction.

I frowned, my eyebrows lowering and my eyes squinting with concentration. Where had I heard that name before? "Mr. Bleak," I repeated quietly, trying it out. Bleak…something that had to do with the weather, I think.

"Aha, here it is." I wiped my expression of concentration, snapping out of it as Dr. Young turned toward me, holding a manila folder. She held it out over the desk, holding it out to me. My eyes widened.

"That's my folder?"

I reached for it and took it, excitement growing in my chest. But I hesitated, giving her a suspicious look. "Are you allowed to show me this?"

"I told you, Jane. Keaton's method of keeping information from you didn't work, and _doesn't_, unless you were prompted. Even then, it's a trial. I believe you should be allowed any kind of information of your past that we're aware of, unless I am told, directly, _not_ to let you. I've spoken with Dr. Arkham on this matter, and he said it was fine." She sat down across from me and noticed my hard stare. "Don't you trust me, Jane?" she asked, a slight smile on her lips.

I wetted my dry lips as I lowered my eyes to the manila folder in my hands. _My_ manila folder. How much information would return to me when I look at the contents? It felt light so I didn't think they had much that I didn't know, but would anything come back to me? My heart pounded in my chest as I reached up and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. My hands trembled as I opened the folder.

First thing I spotted were my profile pictures, particularly the one of me facing the camera.

It was very similar to what I looked at in the mirror every night. There were only two noticeable differences; there wasn't any sign of my dark circles from lack of sleep and there was a look of innocent confusion in my eyes. I remembered feeling confused as the front and side pictures were taken after I had been forced into a light blue jumpsuit.

My eyes dropped to the typed information below my pictures.

_Name: Jane McKinley, also known as Shadow_

_Age: 24_

_Past: Unknown_

Following what I already knew, there was a paragraph describing how I had been discovered, handcuffed to an arcade game and covered in blood. A metal bat – the weapon used on me – was found on the ground beside me. My current condition was described at length, written by Dr. Keaton, and then an added piece from Dr. Young, with a bunch of her notes.

_Suffers from high-level amnesia, major depression, and insomnia. She responds little and seems to have a self-confidence issue, holding to it every now and then before it fades. Eating and exercising habits are good. She had a lack of attention with prior doctor, and I believe she needs to socialize with others, other patients._

Wouldn't _that_ be a change in my schedule? Actually talking to people outside my little group (AKA my reflection, me, myself, and I…with Dr. Young) would be something new and exciting. I skimmed the rest of the contents, finding that it wasn't anything new. I knew my condition. The sentence at the very bottom, however, caught my attention.

_Her inability to draw on her memories makes her as mysterious as her boss, Patient 4404._

My first thought: There was _another_ reference to the number four. My second thought…

Patient 4404? My boss?...my _boss?_ My boss was a patient at Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. He, or she, wasn't here for memory loss; he was here because he was a freakin' _crazy!_

My hand dropped to my knee where it clenched, gripping a handful of my pants. Something about the idea that I had been working for a mad person ticked me off – with myself. No _wonder_ they threw me into the asylum – they thought I was crazy to work with a crazy person! It didn't matter that they were claiming I was here for my ability and for my amnesia, among my other problems.

A knock at the door startled me out of my thoughts, causing me to jump in surprise. Dr. Young stood up and went to answer it, and I leaned forward, trying to peek past her to see who was waiting on the other side.

"Harleen?" Dr. Young said.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Teresa." A woman with blonde hair tied up in a bun – what was up with female psychiatrists and their hair in buns? – stood outside. She seemed to notice how Dr. Young was blocking the inside of the office, and she asked, "Do you have someone in there?"

"Yes, my patient."

"Ms. McKinley?" There was something in her tone that spoke hostility, and I winced, even though she couldn't see me. Yet _another_ person who intimidated me, and I didn't even know this…Harleen was her name? I wondered what her last name was.

I missed Dr. Young's response, but I heard Harleen say, tartly, "Could we step out here for a moment, Teresa?"

"Of course." Dr. Young moved her head and gave me a smile. "I'll be just a minute, Jane," she said kindly and then left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

I didn't even think. I stood and walked around her desk, peeking into the drawer of the filing cabinet that Dr. Young had left open when she had handed me my folder. I was looking for Patient 4404's files, hoping that she had some access to it. None of the labels fit that description, but it seemed like Dr. Young had interesting names for some of her patients.

Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, Poison Ivy, Bane…who the heck were these people? There was a dull ache in the back of my head, but I ignored it, continuing to flick through the files. Some random names for patients were relatively _normal_. I heard the doorknob rattle and reluctantly bolted back to my chair, forcing again on my folder but my eyes wandered to a manila folder on the desk.

I checked the door, to see if the doorknob had turned yet, but it seemed clear. I reached forward and dragged the folder closer to me, turning it to read the label.

_The Joker._

My eyes widened slightly in surprised. That _definitely_ seemed familiar, but where had I heard it? I opened the folder, and my mouth dropped open in disbelief.

There was _nothing_ in it.

I wanted to scream with frustration, but I closed the folder and pushed it back to its approximate place before leaning in my chair.

The door opened, and Dr. Young stepped inside, hanging in the doorway. "Don't worry about it, Harleen," she said. "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you so much, Teresa," Dr. Quinzel replied from the hallway. "I owe you one."

Dr. Young closed the door and sat down across from me, scribbling a note down on her notepad off to the side. When she lifted her gaze, she asked, "Anything return?"

Mutely, I shook my head, sliding my folder to her across the desk. Her eyebrows frowned in disappoint as she took up my information and returned it to the filing cabinet.

I licked my lips and said, "Dr. Young."

"Yes?" She turned around after pushing the drawer closed and crossed her arms, waiting for me to continue.

I cleared my throat and said, "When you were looking for my files, you said that your contributor, Mr. Bleak, had a strong opinion against how Arkham was dealing with my ability." She nodded, and I asked, "What's my ability?"

Dr. Young's expression froze, her blue eyes widening slightly. She lowered her gaze to her desk, her fingers tapping against her arm. I waited, my hope fading as I watched her think it over. I could imagine her turning the question's answer around in her head, along with another question: _Should I tell her or not?_

"It wasn't inside your file?" she asked, lifting her gaze to meet mine. Confused, I shook my head. She turned and retrieved my file from the cabinet, opening and flipping through it. To my surprise, she heaved an exasperated sigh, rubbing her face with a hand. "Dr. Arkham must have thought that I might show you it sometime so he had it censored."

"So it would have had the name of my boss?" I asked, excitedly.

"Patient 4404," she read. "No, that's his name here."

I frowned, suspiciously. "It's a _he_?"

"I'm sure he'd find it funny that you thought he was a she." A small smile played at her mouth. "If Dr. Arkham censored your files, I shouldn't tell you, but I will; just know that I'm not giving all the details."

"A little is better than nothing," I said, shrugging before I leaned forward, eager to know what my ability was.

Dr. Young sighed, this time sounding weary. "You have a certain talent with shadows that we needed to disable so that you wouldn't break out."

I blinked, understanding why my file also mentioned that I went by the name of Shadow. "Why would I break out though?"

"Why _wouldn't_ you?" she countered.

My mouth dropped. "Dr. Young, I don't even know who I _am_!"

"You're Jane McKinley."

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head, "I meant, I don't really know why I'm here. If it wasn't for my memory loss and other…troubles, I wouldn't be here, would I? I'd have gone to the prison, whatever it's called."

"Blackgate," she supplied.

My mouth went dry, and I struggled to say, "Yeah…that place." My hands shook, and I rubbed them together, feeling perspiration. My heart started pumping rapidly, my breath quickening. Pressure built in my chest, pain surging. I began trembling as my throat constricted; I was having difficulty breathing. With an effort, I spoke in a quiet voice. "What have I _done_, Dr. Young?"

My self-control broke, and I dropped my face into my hands, overcome with emotion. Tears burst from my eyes, pouring down my cheeks. My shoulders bobbed, the movement making the pressure in my chest to worsen. I wailed in agony, drawing away from Dr. Young who tried to comfort me. There was no amount of comfort that could help me.

A guard returned me to my cell where I curled up into a corner, sobbing. I drew into myself, drawing my knees into my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs. It didn't matter how hard I held myself; there was simply no escape from my emotions.

Time didn't matter anymore. I was alone, falling deeper and deeper into an endless pit of darkness. Misery flared inside me, burning holes into my mind, my conscience, my being. I was falling apart, diminishing into a hollow self. Pessimistic emotions beat down on me, fighting battle against my sanity, or what was left of it. No one would come to save me, _no one_…

Warmth enveloped me. I frowned against my knees as I felt it enfold me, like a pair of arms. The burning inside me faded gradually, the flame dying slowly, painfully until it was nothing. I didn't understand as I felt a presence beside me, pressing close to me. It was comforting, soothing. Something touched my head, and I jerked, raising my head from my knees.

Bewildered, I looked around my cell, finding nobody with me. I didn't understand. Had it been a figment of my imagination or was someone actually _there_, just hiding?

The warmth and comfort was gone, but I felt better, more in control. I rubbed my eyes on my sleeve and took a steadying breath before I rested my chin on my knees, searching my cell. I had _definitely_ felt a pair of arms and a hand on my head. It couldn't have been my imagination, or my mind losing it at last.

I slowly unfolded from my position and moved myself to my cot where I lied down, facing the brick wall. Closing my eyes, I tried to remember the warmth, the comfort, thinking maybe it would help me to sleep, to recover.

It took many minutes, but when I was about to give up, it came, wrapping its imaginary arms around me, comforting me as I drifted into a much needed sleep.

* * *

"Um, Doctor," the guard began.

"I know it's last minute, but Dr. Quinzel wasn't feeling well and I promised her that I'd visit her patient, even if it was for five minutes. It'll be short." She gave him a stern look. "Lyle."

Lyle Bolten hesitated and then nodded, retrieving his card from the desk, also switching off the cameras. He led her into the Maximum Security Wing, stopping before a cell and knocking on the door with his knuckles. "He should still be awake," Lyle told her as he slid his card. The lights turned green, and the door clicked. He opened the door for her, and she slipped inside.

Even though it was dark, she could still see Dr. Quinzel's patient lying on his back, his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. At the sight of him, she smiled slightly, amused.

"How many times have you counted the ceiling panes, Joker?" she asked.

"Too many." He didn't move from his position, but he sounded annoyed. "Why are you here, Dr. Young? I know that Harleen wasn't here, but I don't ap-_pre_-ciate someone _else_ taking her _place_."

"I'm not taking her place. I'm just visiting."

"Visiting?" He giggled softly, clearly amused. "Isn't it _after_ visiting hours?"

"Quit it, Joker," she snapped harshly. "You know who I am."

He sat up abruptly, and almost within a flash, he had her trapped against the security door. Some light from the hall seeped in through some of the bars, and she could see his cold eyes.

"Why has _Crane_ sent you here, Raven?" he growled, his voice low.

"Be nice, Joker," she replied, coolly. "Jon's feeling generous after you helped me break him out months ago."

The Joker scoffed, drawing away from her. "That doesn't explain why you're _visit_-ing," he said, sitting down on the edge of his cot.

"Two reasons. One's taking Harleen's place." The Joker growled disapprovingly. "Second…it's about Shadow." He visibly straightened, his face lifting. "I don't think it's a good idea to keep her here." He frowned, his scars stretching. "Jon and I can help both of you out-."

"No," the Joker replied, curtly.

She stiffened and turned back to the door. "Then, it'd be _your_ fault if anything happens to her, whether it is her losing her sanity or committing suicide."

The Joker jumped to his feet, and an inhuman growl emanated from his throat. She glanced over her shoulder at him, to see him standing there, his head hanging and his fists clenched by his sides. "There's nothing…you can do, is there?" he asked, slowly.

She took a breath and said, "She won't open up to me, Joker. I'm sorry."

"Then don't have her open up to _you_." She raised an eyebrow. He lifted his head and grinned. "Yeah…"

"I can't have you meet with her, Joker," she protested. "It's against regulations."

"No, I wasn't even thinking about me, though that could help too." He licked his lips and said, "Give her a book, Raven."

"A book?" she repeated, and he nodded, his grin widening.

* * *

"Jane, is there something you're not telling me?"

I blinked, surprised that Dr. Young had switched tactics so quickly. I was already nervous that she would pressure about my situation from yesterday. "Um, no."

"Your hesitation tells me 'yes'." I bit my lower lip, ducking my head, unable to meet her eyes. "Don't feel ashamed, Jane. Why wouldn't you tell me something? You trust me, don't you?"

"I do," I said quietly. "I just…it's just something I feel like I should deal with alone."

Dr. Young sighed as she leaned forward, clapping her hands together and setting them on the desk. "Whatever it is, working alone against it doesn't seem to have much affect on it, Jane. It's been three weeks since I've become your doctor, and a number of problems have gotten worse for you. Your insomnia is worse, despite the sudden change yesterday, or so the guards told me."

I didn't reply, still hanging my head, my eyes fixed on my hands as I rubbed my knuckles nervously.

"Your self-confidence seems to have withered too," she continued. "You're worrying me, Jane. I may not understand what it's like to not know who you are, but I can sympathize. That's what I'm here for, Jane, not just to help you regain your memory. I'm here for _you_." She tapped her fingers on the desk, the sound startling me as I looked up to meet her blue eyes. "I don't mean to sound like an old record, but you must be _open_ with me."

"I know…I'm just not ready," I told her, quietly.

She watched me for a few moments before nodding. "For now, I'll let this pass, but you'll have to tell me eventually, Jane. Do you understand?" I nodded, silently.

I watched her as she made a passing note on her pad before she opened one of her desk drawers, pulling out a book. She slid it over to me over her desk, and I stared at her in confusion. When she didn't give an explanation, I asked, "What's this for?"

Before she responded, there was a knock on her office door. She gave me an apologetic look before answering the door. A male doctor stood outside, and he smiled gently to Dr. Young. "Good afternoon, Dr. Young," he said.

"Dr. Strange," she greeted. "Jane is with me now. Please come in."

I narrowed my eyes slightly with suspicion. Dr. Strange smiled at me, holding out his hand, saying, "Ms. McKinley."

"Dr. Strange," I said without raising my hand. I saw the stern look on Dr. Young's face so I reluctantly shook the man's hand.

"Jane," Dr. Young cut in, "Dr. Strange has a proposition of a method that could help with your memories."

"What is it?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the new doctor.

"It is a fundamental approach. I'm an advocate of hypnotherapy and its power over the unconscious mind. I believe, Ms. McKinley, that even though your memories are unreachable when conscious, there is a chance that your _unconscious_ mind can reach those memories."

"I don't dream of memories, Dr. Strange," I told him.

"Dr. Young has told me such. Your insomnia might be blocking your way to reaching your memories, is what I believe."

My eyes narrowed. "And you're okay with this?" I asked Dr. Young, looking to her for her response.

"I'll be in the room, Jane," she said, confidently. "I believe that it could help."

_Could_. That's the keyword. I sighed and said, "I suppose it couldn't _hurt_ to try it out."

After replacing my handcuffs and collar, Dr. Young and I followed her colleague to his office to retrieve the instruments he needed for my hypnosis. We took one of the hospital wing's rooms where I sat in one of the chairs as Dr. Young tipped it back. She helped Dr. Strange attach the wires to my forehead and one to my left arm.

"Are you comfortable?" Dr. Strange asked, sitting in a chair beside me.

"As comfortable as these chairs _allow_," I replied, and he nodded. The action reminded me too much of callous Dr. Keaton; at my side, my fist clenched with the urge to punch him. I distracted myself with the constant beeping in the background. "What's the beeping for?" I asked.

"We are measuring your brainwaves as we do this," he explained. "Maybe we'll be able to find something that could explain your insomnia."

"Two for the price of one," I said, and he nodded again.

"Now, if you are ready, we can begin." I looked at him and then back at the ceiling. "I want you to close your eyes and imagine a place of safety. Clear your thoughts and let that place of safety remain."

I did so and tried picturing a place that I could help safe. I couldn't remember a home, but it was the first thing that came to mind so I tried picturing myself in a bedroom, safely under the covers.

"It is quiet, peaceful," Dr. Strange described.

I could imagine it, his voice calm and steady, almost hypnotizing. I inhaled deeply.

* * *

_Hazy…blurry vision. It seemed cloudy, foggy. I couldn't see anything beyond the whiteness around me. I moved my arm before me, the thickness of the air slipping through my fingers. Opening my mouth, I could taste the air. It tasted like snow, like water._

_I laughed, but I couldn't hear a sound. Shutting my mouth and looking around nervously, I wondered where I could be, that even though I had _definitely_ been laughing, no sound was made._

_Worry washed over me. Where was I? Was I…_dead_?_

_Abruptly, a familiar warmth enveloped me, wrapping its arms around me, resting low at my waist. I smiled, letting it seep into me, and I even leaned back into it. Then, I jerked in surprise, trying to move away only to find resistance._

_Someone was standing behind me. The warmth's arms were real; someone was holding me._

_I felt the arms tighten around my waist, keeping me from moving away. Someone's breath blew on my neck, and I shivered. To my surprise, I leaned into him, taking his arms and bringing them up to wrap around my chest. Whoever it was, he understood what I wanted, pulling me in closer._

_I didn't know if he was just a figment of my imagination, but he felt real. I felt his face press against my cheek, and I reached up and back, tracing his head until I slipped my fingers into his hair._

_A voice echoed distantly through the haze, and I stiffened. The man behind me held me tighter, his lips against my cheek, and he mouthed the words, "It's okay. I'm here."_

_The voice continued to speak in the distance, and gradually, I relaxed, straining my hearing to hear what it was saying. The man shifted his weight behind me and brought his lips close to my ear. I felt air against my cheek, but whatever he was saying, I couldn't hear it._

_I frowned slightly, confused. I could hear the voice, but not my own laughter or the man's words. What kind of dream was this?…if it _was_ a dream._

_

* * *

_"-I'd rather wait until she wakes up before we move her, but if it can't wait…"

I shuddered awake, feeling disoriented as I opened my eyes, flinching from the brightness of the lights on the ceiling. The air felt cold to me. My head started pounding, an ache awakening at the base of my head. A groan of pain, from my lips, alerted the others in the room that I was awake.

Dr. Young leaned over me, concerned. "Jane? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," I said, squinting against the light. The brightness made my head throb painfully.

"C'mon, Jane, sit up." She placed a hand at my back, supporting me as I sat up slowly. The distortion worsened, and the room spun. I pressed my palms into my eyes, trying to center my world. "Jane, are you all right?"

"Give me a minute." I had the sensation of the room moving, but my body seemed to be moving with it, bending and twisting. I forced my eyes open, knowing somehow that it would go away when I did. "Water?"

Dr. Young handed me a glass, and I sipped from it, a nasty taste residing in my mouth. She watched me while I drank, which made me uncomfortable. "So…did it work?" I asked.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Dr. Strange's hypnotherapy," I supplied.

"Oh. To an extent." She didn't meet my eyes when she said this, and I sensed something in her tone. Was it…_fear_?

"Did I say anything?"

"Yes," Dr. Young answered, "We have a videotape of it, but Dr. Strange is working with it at the moment. For now, maybe you should rest. Do you feel okay?" She was purposely avoiding the conversation, and I wanted to pursue it, except I was feeling ill. "Let's get you back to your cell so you can rest."

She helped me off the chair, and my guard, Scott came over to support me. Dr. Young walked back with us, watching as Scott dropped me off on my cot after taking off my collar and handcuffs.

After my door locked, Dr. Young spoke up. "I left the book with you, Jane." I turned my head and saw it sitting on my small table in the corner. "I'll be gone for the next few weeks. I'm sorry it's last-minute, but it's a family emergency."

"Not to mention it's close to Christmas," I murmured, turning my head and staring up at the ceiling.

"So I would like you to pretend that the book is me, and write down your thoughts and feelings. Would you do that for me?"

"You're not going to ask another doctor to visit me?"

"If you want me to-."

"No," I said sharply.

Dr. Young heaved a sigh. "And to start, I wanted to give you an assignment for your journal, Jane."

"Homework?" I chuckled softly. "Will you be grading it?"

"Depends on how you answer," she replied. "I'd like you to think of ideas of what you would do if you were to be released soon. Just some ideas of what you would do, if your memories didn't return. Would you have a job?"

"It'd probably keep me busy," I said.

"Then make a list of occupations you might want to look into, if you were released. You have a few weeks to think it over. Would you do that?"

"Sure." I yawned, weariness overcoming me unexpectedly. I settled down on my cot, rubbing my head into my pillow, trying to get comfortable. I just _barely_ heard Dr. Young say, "I'll be back, Jane. Hang in there," before I lost consciousness.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Okay, I want everyone to applaud Roselyn Small for being such a great beta-reader! She's read over **_**Joker's Shadow**_** and hasn't hesitated to point out that I have problems with grammar and choice of words. I tend to write 'particularly' when I mean 'apparently' or the other way around. Thing is, I just write it down and then post it, which is a big FAIL on my part. I should've taken the time to go back over it and edit it. Now, I don't really have to worry too much; I have a beta-reader to do that for me, to knock me over the side of the head – **_**literally**_**. So my writing should have better quality with a beta-reader to keep me in line. I'll finish this note with a hello, a thank-you, and a goodbye, with the hope that you, my dear readers, will review before you go. :)**


	4. Holiday Friend

The night guards were having a celebration down the hall. They had Christmas music playing, and they were singing right along, a large number of them off-key. The hall alone was quiet so their entertainment echoed down, reaching my ears from where I sat on the ground, my back against the wall, and the side of my head pressed to the bars.

Loneliness was my only companion, this late at night. I didn't want to write in my journal; I wanted to talk and I wasn't going to talk to myself. If I had a Christmas wish, it would be for a companion. I wished there was _someone_ here to talk to; it doesn't have to be for celebrating a worldwide holiday.

Time was slow. Laughter echoed from the room the guards were celebrating. I longed for companionship, my heart aching for it. I curled my legs into my chest, hugging my knees tightly. Tears escaped, tumbling down my cheeks, and I didn't bother to wipe them away. I felt like a child, lost and alone. The emptiness in my chest hurt.

The singing and joyful laughter grew louder, bringing a metallic ringing in my left ear. I closed my eyes, pressing my ear harder against the bar, but it continued to ring. I waited, hoping the ringing would go away, but I also felt the bar vibrating against my head. My eyes opened as I pulled away and looked up.

Someone was standing there, tapping the bar with his finger. I recognized the orange suit; he was a fellow patient. Realizing this, I moved away from the bar, cautiously watching him, wondering what type of patient he was.

"Hell-_oh_, Beau-_ti_-ful," he greeted softly. From the dim light of the hallway, I could see a ghost of a smile on his face, though it seemed larger than the usual.

"What do you want?" I asked, matching his soft volume. He had obviously broken out of his cell and was taking care not to warn the guards down the hall. I didn't know him well enough, but I played along anyway. Maybe I could talk to him for awhile before he was caught.

The patient shrugged, jerking his head to the side, cracking his neck. "Yah know, I've seen you _once_ in here. Just thought I'd be nice and intro-_duce_ myself." He held up what looked like a plate in his other hand. "Snatched some snacks on the way over. A present, in case you don't really want me around to _bother_ you…"

"Isn't that risky?" I started to climb to my feet as he headed over to my door, pulling something out of his back pocket. By the jingling, it sounded like keys. "Where did you get the keys?"

"Off one of my guards," he replied, unlocking my door and slipping in before closing it behind him. "So," he said, holding up the plate, "Which offering will you take? Treats, companionship, or both?"

I smiled, liking him already, even though I didn't know how dangerous he was; he was quite charming. "I'll take both. It gets very lonely when you can't sleep at night."

"Insomnia?" he asked, setting the food – Christmas cookies, brownies, chips, etc. – on my cot before he seated himself beside it. I moved over to the opposite end of my cot, sitting Indian-style, facing him.

"Unfortunately, yes," I answered, "Happens too often for my liking."

He nodded, seeming to think of how to respond to that. "What's your name?"

"Jane," I replied, purposely avoiding my last name. "And you?"

"Don't have one."

I scoffed. "_Seriously_? Every patient in Arkham has a name, whether it's their real name or one they've been given by the city."

"Nah, I came up with mine," he said. He turned his head and lowered it, looking at me from under his brow, or at least I _think_ that's what he was doing. The dim lighting was _awful_. "Wanna guess?" he asked, snatching a cookie off the plate between us.

"That's _hardly_ fair," I complained, also taking a cookie, "I didn't have you guess mine."

"It's a game, Jane. Lighten _up_." The words were harsh, but his tone revealed his amusement.

"All right, fine." I reached for a brownie and took a bite of it, thinking of various patients' names that I have heard since I came here. "Can I ask a question first?"

"You already _did_." He chuckled, quietly, and said, "But I'll let you ask _another_. I might not answer it though."

"Fair enough. Are you located in Maximum Security?"

He huffed, like he was upset. "How did you know?"

"We've seen each other _once_. I'd have to assume you were the one who was being dragged down the hallway almost two months ago." He leaned back against the wall, shrugging carelessly. "You're the only patient I've seen here."

"_Real_-ly?" I couldn't tell if he was amused or irritated. "You're not in Maximum Security. Why aren't they letting you see other patients?" I shrugged, biting my lips as I realized I shouldn't have said anything. "No social life equals going crazy." He turned his head and saw that I was gazing off to the side. "Not comforting, huh?" he asked.

"No," I said. I returned my gaze to him in time to see him shove his entire cookie into his mouth. "Not worried of choking, are you?"

He shook his head, too busy chewing to respond. I finished my own while I watched him, squinting and trying to make out his face in the dim light, but the only features I could make out were his curly hair and nose. Instead, I conjured up my mental image of him, remembering when we had made eye-contact in the hallway as he had been dragged away.

I waited until he had swallowed his cookie before I asked, out of curiosity, "Where did you get the scars?"

He reacted so fast, so abruptly that I jerked back in surprise, hitting the wall as he lunged at me, placing his hands by either side of my head. "That's uncalled for," I told him without thinking.

He laughed, amused. His laughter had a familiar ring to it, sounding macabre, a laugh that sent chills up and down your spine. It was the kind of laughter that would reside in your nightmares and reduce you to a frightened child.

He licked his lips and asked in a mocking tone, "You're not scared?"

"Why? You're dangerous?"

"Oh, you can't even _imagine_ how _danger_-ous." He giggled, bringing his face close to mine, until his raw breath blew in my face. His breath smelled of the sugar cookie he had just eaten.

"Since you won't tell me your name," I began, raising my eyes to his, "What should I call you?"

"Anything you _want_, Tiger," he replied.

"You don't have a preferred name?" I smirked as I continued. "If I pick your name, you'll be _stuck_ with it, whether you like it or _not_."

In the dim light, his smile faded slightly, and his tongue traced his bottom lip. "Um, how 'bout you address me as, ah, as Mist_ah_ J?"

"Mister J," I said, trying it out. "It sure fits you. Would it bug you if I shortened it to J?"

He shrugged as he leaned back, snatching another cookie from the plate. "Not from _you_, Tiger." His eyes wandered about my cell, and he remarked, "Yours is nicer than mine."

"I didn't think that cells could look _nice_," I said, taking a handful of chips. "Then again, you _are_ in Maximum Security. I'd think you'd have better…_equipped_ cells."

"Specially designed ones, yes." He chewed on his cookie and then asked, "Is that a book?"

I followed his gaze, and my eyes widened. At the same time, we both jumped up from my cot and raced for my journal, but he was swifter, snatching it off the table and slapping my hand away when I tried to steal it from him. Without thinking, I tackled him, catching him by surprise and dragging him down to the ground. He started laughing as I grabbed his arm, twisting it behind him and snatching my journal from him.

"Whoa! Touchy, aren't we?" he giggled.

"It's my assignment book," I growled, threateningly. "I'm not letting people like _you_ read it."

"People like me?" he repeated as I climbed off him, sitting down on my cot. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, with his legs spread out. He looked like a little kid sitting in time-out with a pout on his face, one that I could see clearer with the dim light actually hitting his face rather than lighting _behind_ his head. "You don't like me, do you?"

I had difficulty trying to hide my smile at the pathetic – but adorable – puppy look he was throwing in my direction. "What makes you say that?" I asked, slyly as I slipped my journal underneath my pillow. "Just because you irritated me doesn't mean that I automatically _hate_ you."

"I said 'like', Tiger," he pointed out, "Hate's too strong of a word." He licked his lips and then cocked his head, giving me the impression of a dog. "And I _only_ irritated you?"

"You used to ticking someone off?" I asked, "You enjoy pushing buttons?"

"Very _much_ so." He grinned, and then he narrowed his eyes, turning his head slightly, giving me a sidelook. "So who _do_ you talk to? You don't seem to have any problems talking to strangers, par-_tic_-ually possibly _danger_-ous-ah patients." His eyebrows twitched.

"I don't think we're strangers," I said.

He gave me the sidelook again, but this time, his eyes were wide with curiosity. "How so? We've seen each other _once_-."

"Twice," I corrected.

He clicked his tongue. "_Twice_ then…and this is the first time we've spoken."

"Strangers don't know each other's names."

"You don't know my _real_ name."

"So?" I shrugged. "I just feel like I've known you for longer."

His eyebrows perked up. "You don't know for sure?"

"It's hard to be sure about anything when you don't remember."

His face scrunched up, as his tongue slid out over his bottom lip. He remained like that for over a minute, like he was trying to figure out if what I had said was a puzzle or not. I watched him, waiting to see if he would ask.

Suddenly, his face lit up, and he snapped his fingers in abrupt recognition. "You're the one who was hit over the head with a metal bat!" he exclaimed, and I shushed him, jumping up and checking down the hall to make sure the guards hadn't heard him. "You've recovered from that," he continued. "Why are you here?"

"Multiple reasons," I told him, keeping my attention on the celebration down the hall. "Depression, insomnia…amnesia."

"_That's_ why you can't remember, huh?" I turned my gaze to him as he said, "That's why you're not sure if you've met me before."

"Have we?" I asked, hoping it was true, that I would have someone who _knew_ who I had been. He stared at me for a few moments, narrowing his eyes slightly, before he shook his head.

I slumped against the wall, sliding down its length until I was on the floor, my head resting on the bars. What had I been expecting? Just because he had heard of me on the news doesn't mean he would actually _know_ who I am – who I _was_.

Something rapped against my forehead, and I jerked back, smacking my head against the cars. I groaned as I looked at the patient, finding that he had moved to lay on my cot, staring at me from the end of it. He reached forward and rapped his knuckles on my forehead again, but I slapped his hand away. "What are you doing?" I demanded.

"I wondered if re-enacting what _caused_ your amnesia would reverse it," he replied, simply, "Except, I didn't want to hit you _that_ hard." He did it again, this time saying, "Knock-knock, any _memories_ in there?"

Despite my glumness, I cracked a smile. "There's _nothing_ you can tell me, J?" I asked.

He propped himself up on his elbows, placing his chin in his hands as he thought, his eyes narrowing with concentration. "Yah know, there _is_ something I can tell you," he began, "_But_ answer me _one_ question."

"Depends on the question," I told him.

"You don't answer, I won't tell you anything." I glared at him. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, looking me over as he thought of his question. "All right, since you don't have any memory, if you weren't here, what would you be doing?"

I turned my head, frowning as I thought over his question. It wasn't difficult to answer. "I guess, just start over," I answered. "I have a chance at a clean slate. I'd get a job, and during my free time, try to figure out my past."

"Hm." He sat up, running a hand through his curly locks, snatching another cookie and munching on it. "What occupation would you go for?"

I gave him a hard look. "You haven't spoken to my _doctor_, have you?"

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "What makes you say _that_?" he asked. "Do you even know how _hard_ they're trying to keep me out of this hall?"

"Why?" I asked.

"How am _I_ supposed to know?" he demanded. He had straightened, growing angry. I remained where I was, watching him closely in case he decided to snap and hurt the one other person in the cell with him: me.

He moved suddenly, causing me to jump, but he wasn't coming for me. Instead, he nearly dived to the other end of my cot, and sat up, holding my journal in his hands.

"Hey!" I protested, standing up. He waggled his finger at me, his eyes silently warning me. I clenched my fists at my sides, growing angry as he took my pen from inside the binding and glanced over what I had written so far. He didn't seem to dwell on my words long enough to read them, more like analyze them.

Then, he flipped to a blank page and started to write. I moved to protest again, but I stopped at the sight of his handwriting. He was _forging_ my handwriting, with only a quick glance at it. He seemed to be making a list of sorts, rapidly writing down items, or whatever it was he was writing, his attention completely focused on it.

I went to sit next to him, walking slowly so that he didn't think I was going to attack him for my journal. I even took a brownie from the plate, biting into it as I watched him copying my handwriting.

He finished in five minutes, snapping my journal shut and handing it back to me. I blinked, bewildered as he stood up after taking a handful of chips.

"W-What did you write?" I asked.

"Read it tomorrow," he said, popping a chip into his mouth. "I did your assignment." Then, he turned to face me, leaning against the wall casually. "Were you planning on committing suicide or something?"

I blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Suicide. I may have only glanced at your handwriting, but the words I caught were _quite_ discouraging." I ducked my head, finishing off my brownie. He cleared his throat loudly, and I lifted my gaze. "I advise you _not_ to. Having no memories isn't _worth_ killing yourself. I would know."

As he shoved the rest of his chips into his mouth, I asked quietly, "You tried killing yourself?"

"Many years ago," he replied, "Don't remember when. Can't say I have that _good_ of a memory either."

"So you don't remember how you got those scars?" I flinched when he narrowed his eyes, thinking he was going to attack me again like the first time I mentioned his scars.

He played with his mouth, watching me closely, and I resisted the urge to look away. He was staring me down, and I didn't like it. Finally, he said, "I like multiple choice questions better than essays."

I frowned, taking a moment to realize what he meant by that. Then, I leaned back against the wall. "Do you believe in Santa Claus?"

He laughed, struggling to contain it so that it didn't alert the guards celebrating down the hall. "That's _random_. I didn't see _that_ one coming."

I shrugged. "Do you?"

"No." He shifted his weight as he explained, "He doesn't exist."

"_If_ he existed."

"I'd kill him," he said coolly. Callous…just like Dr. Keaton. The answer provided me what I was wondering: this patient was a murderer, and he didn't care about those he killed.

"Why would you kill him?" I asked. "It's not like he did anything to you."

"Because I can."

"That's not a good reason."

He shrugged, carelessly. "Good enough for me." He whipped his head again, turning toward the bars and cranking his neck to see down the hall. "Ah, sorry to cut this visit _short_," he said, heading over to the door, "But I _think_ they're almost done down there."

I jumped to my feet as he stepped out, locking the door behind me. I stood by the bars, unsure of what to say as a parting. I didn't want him to go; despite him being a murderer, he was the _first_ patient I had spoken to, and I found that I liked him. "Do you really have to go?" I asked, my voice quiet.

He stopped, giving me a surprised look, like he didn't understand why I would want him to stay. "If I stay longer, the guards would no doubt catch me, Tiger." He winked. "I'll visit again, no worries."

I cracked a smile and then thought of something. "Speaking of guards," I began, leaning closer to the bars, "There's this _night_ guard I've seen watching me at night."

"Creeper," he remarked, but he also moved closer to the bars. "You get a good look at him, or her."

"No, it's at night when the lights are off, like now," I told him, smiling gently.

He narrowed his eyes, licking his lips quickly. "Did he talk to you?"

"Yeah."

"What did he sound like? Maybe I'd know his name." He seemed so intent, I almost believed that it wasn't _him_.

I frowned, feigning concentration. "Husky, kinda like yours."

"New guy," he said, matter-of-factly. "Haven't figured out his name yet, but I'll get on that if you want."

"Don't bother," I said, shaking my head. "He doesn't bother me. Just wondering if you've seen him."

He grinned, his scars peeling his lips away from his teeth. "All the _time_." Then, he stepped away from the bars and said, "See yah around, Tiger." He saluted me, like a boy scout before turning away.

I blinked with surprise. As he moved away, something flickered over his face. It was only for a second, but it was enough for me.

Three colors flashed across his face. Whiteness over his skin, blackness around his eyes, and redness over his mouth and along his scars.

My breath caught in my throat as pain jolted through my head. I raised my hands, clenching my forehead, taking a sharp intake of air through my clenched teeth. I closed my eyes tightly, pressing my head against the cool bars for a few moments, waiting for the pain to pass.

The color on the patient's face…it _fit_ him. There wasn't any other way I could describe it. Whatever it was, whether it was my imagination or a memory, it fit Mister J.

I opened my eyes as a door opened down the hall. I checked to see a guard coming down to check on the sleeping patients. Quickly, I shoved the rest of the plate of food under my cot and lied down, pretending to sleep.

His footsteps were heavy and uneven. He must have had too much to drink and was the unlucky one who drew the smallest straw. The guard just did a quick check before heading back, but all the same, I waited until I heard the door slam close.

I sat up and snatched the food from under my cot. I still wasn't ready to fall asleep, feeling more awake and alert after talking with the patient. As I sat there, munching on the rest of the junk food, I replayed our chat, trying to remember every detail; more importantly, remember everything about _him_.

I doubted he thought of us this way, but even though I had seen him twice and only talked to him once, I considered him more than just a fellow patient, more of a friend, one that I might need to keep myself from losing it.

* * *

The week to New Year's moved by slowly. I busied myself with exercising and drawing in my journal. I looked over what Mister J had written, seeing that he had written a whole list of occupations that I could try for. Most didn't seem like a job I would have taken even if I _had_ my memories.

_Human Resources Assistant, Interviewer, Courier, Payroll Clerk, Receptionist, Librarian_ – though that one gave me a moment of thought – _Accountant, Loan Officer, Carpenter, Electrician, Chemist, Actress, Computer Trainer, Writer, Teacher, Tutor, Midwife_ – that make me laugh – _Nurse, Paramedic, Physician, Social Worker, Psychologist_ - …absolutely _not_.

The list continued into management, manufacturing, repair and maintenance, sales, marketing, service, transport, technical…I doubted that Gotham City even _had_ all those jobs. I wasn't surprised when I noticed that _criminal_ was on the list, to which I crossed out until I couldn't see the word anymore.

However, I _did_ look down the list and circle one, the only one I could picture myself doing and enjoying it.

There's something about depression that drives me nut; it gets worse after you've met someone and haven't seen them for a few days. I felt that if I could get contact to Mister J, I'd feel better, but I hadn't seen or heard from him.

New Year's Eve arrived, and once again, I found myself staying up late, alone, in my cell. This time, I was sitting on my bed, holding a card in my hands, staring at it. It was from Mister J and had a drawn picture inside of me leaning against a wall, looking almost…_official_ with my arms folded and an ankle crossed over the other. I liked the picture, thinking it had to be of how he imagined me as my past self – as he had said in the note.

_Cheer up, Tiger. A new year will begin. It's time for you to start anew. I imagined what you'd be like if you had your memories still, and this is what came to mind. Hope you like it. – J_

He didn't have color in the picture, but he had shaded it to show where different colors would be. It was a perfect sketch, one that I wished I could post on my wall or on my mirror so that I didn't have to look at myself. It gave me comfort, to see that picture and just imagine me being the drawing, in real life.

The picture appeared serious, mysterious, and cautious at the same time. She didn't look like a weakling, just someone who was quiet and watchful, a shadow in reality. I wanted to be her, wanted to be the picture.

A shuffle near my cell caught my attention, and I looked up to find the night guard walking by. I smiled slightly and waited until he came back before I asked, "What's your new year's resolution?"

He stopped and half-turned toward me. I could feel his gaze as he searched my stoical expression. He took a few moments to reply, shrugging carelessly as he said, "Don't believe in making resolutions. They led to forming _plans_…and I'm not a _schem_-er."

* * *

**Lordlink13: Oct. 17****th****, 5:55 PM…poor beta reader…too much school and staying up really late studying has finally finished her off. Luckily, she was still able to edit this chapter as a zombie before Mister J went out and blew a hole in the ground for her…just kidding. Hope you guys like it. Chapter five is in process…review before you go. Cause I **_**love**_** reading them!**

2b32e96b-7f12-4133-9fff-eca702b210e8

1.03.01


	5. Breakthrough

It happened only two days after New Year's Day.

I felt more depressed than I ever had during my time in Arkham. With my head against the brick wall, my knees tucked into my chest, my arms around my legs, I felt so alone, so _down_.

The guards had confiscated the picture my patient friend had drawn of me, using the excuse that it would mess with my psychological state. Maybe they thought I would develop another personality to be the woman in the picture. Maybe they took it because they _knew_ who had drawn it, and because he wasn't allowed down my hall, they didn't want me to have contact with him.

The staff of Arkham had turned against me, taking my little light of hope away. I hadn't seen the night guard since New Year's Eve. My picture, my card was gone.

I was awake, unable to sleep. My head rested against the wall, my chest hurting. I was only thinking when I had a strong urge to hurt myself. I didn't think; I didn't resist it, using the closest thing at hand…the brick wall.

It didn't hurt like it should have. One hit wasn't enough. I kept doing it, wanting to _feel_ something, when someone stopped me, shouting for help.

I was dragged from my cot and onto the floor where a uniformed man held me down. Blood was dripping from my forehead, running close to my eyes, but I still didn't feel anything. The floor…the man stopped me before I hit it, like he knew what I was thinking. He forced me to sit up, and he wrapped his arms around me, pinning mine at my sides.

I didn't struggle, just looking around bewildered as I snapped back to reality. The guard was yelling for help, but there was a ring in his voice…or at least what I _thought_ was a ring. He sounded familiar, but as my head suddenly started to throb, I couldn't focus.

My vision blurred as I looked up, squinting to make out the guard's face. But then, he placed a hand to my cheek.

A shock jolted through me, and I think he felt it too because my gasp wasn't the only one I heard. Purple filled my vision, fading in the middle, leaving a haze along the edges. I found myself looking straight into his eyes, seeing only purple.

It was only a second. The purple haze left my vision, but I was still staring into the guard's eyes, finding that they were still purple. My eyes narrowed.

An explosion erupted in my head, and I screamed in sudden anguish. My reaction startled the guard, causing him to drop me. My head slammed against the floor, causing more explosions. The agony was so great that I lost consciousness, yet I still felt the pain.

I awoke, sobbing with the agony in my head. The bright light overhead worsened it. Figures moved around and over me, and I couldn't defend myself as they placed restraints on my arms and legs. They strapped my head down as well, only causing me anguish.

My head hurt too much. I couldn't understand a word the doctors around me were saying. Sound, light, and movement worsened my condition. It was my ultimate torture, one that I didn't think had an end. The doctors finally had to give in and injection me with someone to knock me unconscious.

I've been on suicide watch for days, weeks. Time just passes by, and I don't notice; I don't keep track. The agony residing in my head never goes away, just fades for awhile before flaring up again. Apparently, the doctors thought that I had been trying to commit suicide, rather than just _hurt_ myself. A doctor, I think it was Dr. Young, but I wasn't entirely surely, came to speak to me, to find out what's wrong, but I just complained about my head, unable to focus on anything else.

When I showed no other signs of suicidal urges, I returned to my original cell. It didn't help. Even though it was closer to home, I wasn't comforted. I started hearing things, words that made no sense. It was often a husky voice and a quiet voice, a man and a woman, who spoke to one another in my head. My doctor gave me medication for paranoid schizophrenia, but it didn't have any effect.

After a few days, I started seeing what I thought were the man and the woman talking. One looked like the picture my patient friend had given me, the woman standing close to the man. The man had a painted face, the white skin, the black eyes, and the red mouth. I shuddered, trying to hide from them, closing my eyes tightly, but they were there, on the inside of my eyelids.

The mirror was my only escape, where I only heard them rather than see them as well. But even that escape was ruined when I looked up to see that my blue eyes had changed to the color purple.

At that point, I snapped and punched the mirror as hard as I could, shattering it and cutting myself on the glass. The guard on duty found me hiding in a corner of my cell behind the sink, clenching my hand to my chest.

After more time under suicide watch, I was brought to a different cell, not my own, close to Maximum Security. My schizophrenia seemed to have faded; I didn't see or hear the man and the woman anymore. I was in worse shape than I had ever been. The depression had lifted enough to leave me numb for emotions. My insomnia still existed, leaving me exhausted and unwilling to talk to Dr. Young anymore.

It was like I had lost myself, only existing as a shell of the woman who had lost her memories.

* * *

I pressed my head against the cold wall, my eyes stinging from being unable to sleep. Inwardly, I flinched as my door clicked and was opened. "Jane, you have a visitor," Scott said. He stepped inside, preparing the pair of handcuffs. I lifted my wrists silently, watching him as he gently put them on. He buckled on my collar and attached it to his belt and to the sidebar.

"Who's my visitor?" I asked, quietly as my guard led me down to the visitors' room.

"Jim Gordon," he replied, kindly. I frowned slightly. "Does the name sound familiar?"

"It does," I admitted, shrugging carelessly, "Something to do with the police force, I think."

"He's the Police Commissioner," Scott supplied.

"Commissioner Gordon…" I murmured to myself, hoping it would bring up memories. All it brought was the mocking, husky voice saying, "_Com-_mish_-ioner_."

My guard opened the door into the visitors' room – why he didn't search me was a surprise to me – and he reattached me to the bar along the room, saying that the Commissioner was waiting for me in the third booth. I walked over and saw the gray-haired man before he saw me. He wore round glasses on the bridge of his nose, and he had a folder placed in front of him, most likely the police-version of my folder.

As I sat down on my barstool, Gordon picked up the phone and waited for me to do the same.

"Hello, Ms. McKinley," the Commissioner greeted when I did. "The name's Gordon."

I waved once, being _very_ obvious about my lack of enthusiasm. "Call me Jane." Then, I thought it would be better to be a little more _into_ the fact that he had come to see me, so I asked, "Do you prefer Commissioner or Gordon?"

"Gordon's fine."

I shifted slightly. "I'm honored to be visited by someone in the outside world. What can I do for you, Gordon?"

"It's not really want you can do for me, but what _I_ can do for _you_."

My face remained expressionless as I said, "Why actually would you want to do anything for me?"

"Why do you think?" he asked in return.

I wanted to act like a kid and tell him that I had asked him first – my first _real_ reaction to anything for _weeks_ – but I smothered the urge. "Who would help someone who's done something bad?" I said. "Why _else_ would I be placed in an asylum for the insane?"

Gordon met my gaze, and the simple action confused me. It was rare that _anyone_ did that now, like they were afraid that if they met my gaze, they'd become what I had become, a shell of my prior existence.

"You've been in Arkham for over six months, Jane," Gordon said, calmly. "Despite your memory loss, you would have originally been placed in Blackgate for what you've committed."

"Whatever I did, I'm not surprised," I said.

"They haven't told you."

"_They_ won't tell me _anything_," I growled, bitterly. If I had been facing my psychologist – or _one_ of them – no doubt I would have scared them with my sudden outburst of emotion. It felt strange to actually _feel_ an emotion, after having _nothing_ for so long. My expression changed, wary that the Commissioner might have decided that he shouldn't be talking to the likes of me.

He didn't reply, appearing as though he were waiting for me to explain. I took a steadying breath before I explained, "My first doctor believed that if he didn't tell me anything, I'd remember things on my own. Since him, nothing's really worked for me. I've lost it a number of times." I leaned forward, propping my elbows on the small desk I had, my hand tightening around the phone. "Why I haven't lost it permanently and gone _insane_ yet, is a mystery to me."

"You've been diagnosed with depression, insomnia, and paranoid schizophrenia," Gordon said, without looking at his folder. "You've also had suicidal urges."

"I wasn't thinking of ending my life," I said softly, with a downcast look. "I don't do well with self-inflicted pain, which in my case caused the paranoid schizophrenia." I couldn't meet his eyes anymore. He was silent for a time, but I could still feel his eyes on me. He wasn't consulting his folder, which just _had_ to be mine.

"Yet, you still tried." The way he said it, it was much different from Dr. Keaton or any other psychiatrist's way of asking me. I was reluctant to talk with them, _when_ I talked. With the Commissioner, I felt like he was trying to reach out to me for something. Why? That confused me, and I wanted to ask.

"And I regret it." I rubbed my knuckles, an old habit returning. "Why are you here, Commissioner?" I asked, quietly. "The tension's _killing_ me."

Gordon cleared his throat as he leaned forward on his own desk. "I wanted to offer you a deal."

"Why? I'm city scum."

"No, you're a different kind." I looked up, to see his eyes shining, and his mouth curved into a gentle smile. "I haven't really put any thought to it, until only a week ago. You weren't insane at the time you came here, but you must be slipping at this point, after all you've been through."

"It's _definitely_ driving me crazy," I admitted, "And it's just worsening my condition."

"So I'm offering you a chance to work your 'sentence' elsewhere, rather than here."

I didn't comprehend at first, narrowing my eyes with confusion. He simply waited for it to dawn on me. When it did, my eyes widened. "You're _kidding_ me!" I exclaimed.

"No, Jane, I'm serious. I have a man under my command who knows you personally, knew you in college, he said. It might be better if you were with someone you knew, and you'd work with him. He'd be your patrol officer."

At first, it sounded great. I could _finally_ get out of this place that tormented me in my sleep – if I ever _got_ it. I'd be able to go out into the world and _do_ something other than be watched and talk to psychiatrists. But, I stopped myself before I opened my mouth to speak. I wouldn't have complete freedom, if I heard him correctly. I'd be under one of his men, one who _claimed_ he knew me.

"Wait, what's this guy's name?" I asked, suspiciously. "Maybe I'd recognize the name."

"Lieutenant Jason Hawkins." _Yup_, I recognized it. What I didn't understand was the surge of anger that flooded through my veins, my hand tightening around the phone, my knuckles turning white. My eyes burned, and I had to look down at my free hand that was clenching into a fist on the desk.

I took a deep breath to steady my voice before I said, "Yeah, I recognize the name, but I don't _remember_ him."

Gordon hadn't missed my reaction to the name. "On second thought, there's someone else that you could work with. Her name's Anna Ramirez; she's a detective. But I'm offering you something outside of Arkham, Jane."

"And I'd work for you," I said, slowly. I ran my tongue over my dry lips, trying to release the anger that still coursed through my veins. "Did you run this by my doctors…the Warden?"

"I already have your papers ready," he answered, opening the folder and producing some important papers. "I just need your signature, and his, and then you're out."

"I don't know…" Later, I'd practically _yell_ at myself for hesitating, but right then, I really didn't know whether to say yes or not. "Do I have time to think about this?"

"Yes," Gordon said. "It might be overwhelming with the fact you might have to change your schedule, and such, which I understand. For the time being, I'll give your guard this folder, and when you're sure of yourself, you can sign it or you won't. It's really up to you, Jane. Don't think I'm pressuring this on you."

"I don't," I reassured him. "If that's all, Commissioner…" I stood.

"Yes, that's all," he agreed, standing as well. "Thank you for your time."

"No, thank_-you_," I said, giving him a genuine smile – the first one I had given to _anyone_ since my breakdown. "I haven't talked to many people, certainly not people who actually _have_ a life outside this place." He grinned as he hung up his phone on his side. I did the same and walked back to Scott after changing the side my chain hung so I didn't strangle myself. My guard retrieved Gordon's folder and then led me back to my cell.

Halfway there, the emergency sirens went off. Scott tensed as several men ran by, toward Maximum Security – toward my cell area. "What's going on?" my guard asked.

One man stopped and explained, "The Joker's broken out of his cell."

My guard swore and grabbed my arm.

"As far as we know, he's still on the premises, but we don't know _where_."

"That clown's too smart for his own good," Scott growled. "I'll take Jane here back to her cell and then join up with you and the others."

"Careful," the other man said, looking cautiously at me. "She might be in on it," he whispered to my guard, but I clearly heard it.

"Doubt it," my guard said, but he too threw a cautious look in my direction. He took me away from the other man, leading me back to my cell. I patiently waited for him to unlock my cell, looking around curiously, trying to remember where I had heard that name before. The Joker. No doubt one of the dangerous patients here, one who resided in Maximum Security. I wished that the name – or _title_ – would ring a bell, but there was no luck.

"Here we go," Scott said, opening my door. He unattached me from the bar and gently pushed me inside, snapping the chain down on the bar inside my cell. "Sorry, I'll be back and fix that, okay?" he said, apologetically as he disconnected himself from his end of my chain. And then, he vanished.

I went and sat down on my cot, simply listening to the commotion outside, the guards running and yelling at one another. I doubted it would last much longer, since these guards were good, but not _once_ since I had arrived here had _anyone_ succeeded in breaking out of their cell – well, except for one, who I couldn't quite remember anymore. Whoever this Joker guy was, he was clearly intelligent enough to figure it out.

A few minutes passed, and outside, the commotion had died down. My guard had returned, and he opened the cell, closing it behind him.

"Did you guys catch him?" I asked, curiously.

My guard nodded silently as he turned his attention to my collar, unbuckling it. The silent treatment was _not_ something my guard would give me, and I knew something was wrong. I didn't let on until he had taken off my handcuffs too before I suddenly cracked him hard in the jaw.

I had hit him hard enough to knock a normal guy down, but whoever was _pretending_ to be my guard was made of harder stuff. He lunged at me, slamming me against the wall, my back hitting the light switch and leaving the cell in darkness. I clenched my teeth against the jarring in my back, but I glared where the man's face had to be.

"I'm guessing _you're_ the one they're looking for," I growled. "They called you the Joker."

"That's, ah, my _name_," he replied softly, his voice deep and husky, menacing. "Don't wear it out-ah."

"It's not your _real_ name," I retorted.

"Of _course_, it's not my _real_ name, and neither is yours, Jane Mc-_Kin_-ley."

I narrowed my eyes, burning with fury, but I didn't speak, waiting for him to explain.

"I've been _try_-ing to contact you for weeks, _months_." He stepped back, releasing me. "I don't have much time…"

"Neither do I," I said. "Whoever you are, it doesn't matter. I'm leaving Arkham, but not the way you're trying – or trying the way the _guards_ think you are."

"What?" He sounded shocked, and curious. "They're letting you _go_?"

"Yes."

"But _why_? Your record is as bad as _mine_!"

"I don't know." I found my cot and sat down on it. I heard him shift impatiently, not the _least_ nervous about being caught. "Can I trust you?" I asked.

"I'm the most _trustworthy_ person in this entire _city_," he told me, sounding injured. "But how can you _remember_?" I heard a _thunk_, and I saw his form move as he punched the wall in frustration.

"You _know_ me?"

"Better than anyone." He sighed and then cleared his throat. "But if you're getting out _legally_, I suppose I should let-ah you go. I'll meet you out there." He headed for the door, but I jumped up and grabbed what I thought was his shoulder. He turned, shoving me against the wall again, and I felt his breath in my face. "This was _only_ a dream, Shadow," he whispered, "Even if you don't remember, that's your criminal name…this never _happened_."

He released me, and this time, I didn't stop him as he opened the door to my cell and stepped out into the hallway. I caught the sight of half of his face as he disappeared from view, and I vowed never to forget what had happened. That…_scar_ running up his cheek, coming straight from his mouth…I'll never forget that, especially since it stirred something in me.

Several guards raced to my cell, where I had sprawled myself on the ground, looking like I had lost consciousness. Even though I tried to tell them that I didn't know what had happened since my guard had left, they dragged me out, not bothering with all the chains and handcuffs. They brought me into the Interview Room where the Warden and the Commissioner waited for me.

The Warden was _furious_, and I mean _furious_. He questioned me, threatening to stop me from leaving the asylum, but I kept repeating my formed story. That my guard had left me chained to the bar, and handcuffed, but suddenly, the lights turned off and I didn't remember anything. Someone must have knocked me out and then freed me.

The Warden didn't like my story, but he left the room to deal with the Joker – whom they had _just_ caught. Gordon merely glanced in my direction with a sad look on his face before he went out after the Warden.

I dropped my head on the metal table, hitting it hard since I didn't use my neck muscles to lessen the speed or force. I merely grunted in pain and ignored it. Presented the chance to leave Arkham, and suddenly it was being ripped out of my reach, toyed with like a dog on a _chain_. I didn't like it, but there was _nothing_ I could do. Good behavior would be the only thing in this place that would allow me to have the chance again, but if it took six months for the _first_ chance, how long would it take the _second_ chance?

The door slammed open, and the Warden and the Commissioner returned. I heard a pained yelp and lifted my head instantly.

Two guards held a third, with handcuffs behind his back. It took me a second to realize that this "guard" must have been the one who had talked to me only minutes before, the man known as the Joker. None too gently, the two guards shoved the Joker into a chair, directly across from me.

The Joker giggled as he adjusted his position. He acted like a little kid, looking around ashamed, but amused at the same time. His dirty blond locks barely reached below his jaw. The scar I saw on half of his face was only _part_ of the Glasgow smile that was created by another scar at the other end of his mouth. There was even a small scar cutting downward from near the middle of his lower lip.

I _recognized_ him. It was the patient I had almost forgotten, the one who had visited me on Christmas with a food offering; it was Mister J!

I watched him closely, instantly reading his facial ticks of licking his lips and playing with his mouth. His eyes darted about the room impatiently, watching everyone – the Warden, the two guards, the Commissioner – but me. It was like he was avoiding my gaze, _just like everyone else_! It ticked me off so I looked away, merely gazing at my handcuffed hands on the table, running my fingers over my knuckles.

"Well, _well_, Com-_mish_-ioner," the Joker said, immediately catching my attention. When I had remembered the Commissioner, it was the husky voice and the way his title was _said_ that I remembered, I recognized the Joker's voice, and couldn't believe it. He had said that he had known me; he had been telling the truth!

"Breaking out of Arkham _again_, Joker," Gordon said, scowling. "Good thing you failed."

"I didn't _fail_," the Joker insisted. "Breaking out is something I do all the _time_! Keeps the guards on their toes." He giggled and said, "Too bad _some_ of them can't stand on _broken_ ones."

The Commissioner stepped forward, ignoring the two guards who moved with him to protect him from the Joker. "What were you after?"

"Don't think 'what' is the _correct_ word," the Joker stated. He licked his lips and added, "I think '_who_' is closer."

The Commissioner glanced at me and then back at the Joker. "You were after Jane?"

"Shadow?" The Joker burst into a fit of laughter. "W-Why would you think _that_?" he asked, still giggling. "I have _nothing_ against her! She's a fellow inmate at Arkham Asylum. We inmates stick _together_." He laughed, clearly enjoying the confusion he created, but I understood.

"No _wonder_ no one is getting cured," I murmured, just barely audible for him. The Joker cut off his laughter and turned his head violently, his attention finally drawn to me, but I suddenly didn't want it.

"Jane," Gordon said slowly, "Did you know of his-?"

"_Attempt_ to break out? No, I didn't." I looked up and met the Joker's gaze, giving him a cold look. "Apparently, he's been trying to contact me for several months, but has failed to do so." I gave him a hard look, which only caused him to laugh, amused.

"Saw yah once," he said, still giggling.

"Twice," I injected, "You know, you'd have an ally if you had _told_ me your name."

"I did," he growled, suddenly angry.

"Mister J doesn't count."

"You've talked to each other?" the Warden demanded.

"Unfortunately, yes," I replied. The Joker glared at me, and I returned it. "Stalker…"

The Joker leaned back, clearly not liking the turn of events. He looked over at the Commissioner and grinned. "So, yah taking her in?" he asked. "Making her into one of your _cops_." He spat the last word.

If the other two men weren't in the room, I would have jumped at the Joker and strangled him. He was _purposely_ trying to ruin my possibility of getting out of here. I wanted to yell at him, but seeing Gordon's warning look and how angry the Warden was, I kept my mouth shut, focusing my energy on clenching and unclenching my fists.

At that moment, the door opened once again, and the blonde doctor I had seen once, Dr. Quinzel I believe her name was, marched in, like she had a purpose to be here. "Warden, Commissioner," she said, professionally. She glanced in the direction of the Joker, who had turned when she entered the room and was now _waving_ at her.

For some reason, that simple action angered me. I straightened, gripping handfuls of my pants tightly and merely glared at the Joker's lady doctor. Even when she looked away and started arguing with the Commissioner and the Warden, I didn't take my eyes off her, feeling my blood boil. I didn't know why, but the Joker seemed too _friendly_ with his doctor.

* * *

The Joker grew bored of watching his doctor fighting with the Commissioner and Warden so he turned his attention back to Shadow. His eyes widened at the sight of her, tense and alert. A smirk appeared on his face as he recognized the Shadow he knew _very_ well, the caution, the sharpness, and the distrust – something he had to work out of her. However, he _did_ notice that she was completely _focused_ on something. He turned again, trying to follow her line of fire, and discovered _who_.

The Joker turned his head back to see if Shadow had noticed his movements. She hadn't moved, except for her hand rubbing the knuckles of her other hand. He narrowed his eyes slightly, but a satisfied grin resided on his scarred lips.

Shadow had seen him waving to his doctor – even though he just did it for the heck of it – and thought it was an acknowledgement toward Harleen. Oh, that was _funny_. Poor Shadow, the Joker thought as he squinted, trying to read the emotions in her eyes. She seemed confused by her anger, like her heart still knew about her relationship with him while her head didn't know of its existence.

The Joker leaned back in his chair, his eyes intent on Shadow, whose gaze, in turn, was intent on Harleen Quinzel. It was interesting to see Shadow's reaction to Harleen, and the Joker wondered if he could use that…use _Harleen_. He smirked at the thought.

Finally, Harleen, the Warden, and the Commissioner had reached an agreement. The Joker's two guards roughly grabbed him from the chair, not caring to be gentle.

Harleen protested. "Gentle with my patient," she said, sternly.

"Ah, Doc, they're just doing their _job_," the Joker giggled, amused that she would even _bother_ telling guards such a thing. She ignored him – a rare thing – and continued to tell the guards off. The Joker glanced at Shadow, to see the Warden ordering her to stand.

She managed to tear her heated gaze away from Harleen, losing her intensity in the process, and meekly answered the Warden's questions. The Joker narrowed his eyes, angered that Arkham had done this to her, that whoever had tried to kill her had done this to her. Who she was…the Shadow he knew was still there, but she was hidden underneath a meeker self.

His two guards were fighting to pull him from the room, but the Joker cranked his head, trying to keep sight of Shadow. She sensed his gaze and turned her head, even though the Warden was in the middle of asking her another question. Seeing him, her eyes narrowed, and he grinned, winking at her, just like he had done the first time they saw one another in Arkham.

The guards dragged him from the room, but not before he noticed the slight smile slipping over her mouth.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Ooo…Shadow's **_**jealous**_**…and she doesn't know why. And will she possibly get **_**out**_** of Arkham, after what she's been through? Will she work for Gordon? What will the Joker do about it? Hope you guys enjoyed it. I was talking to my beta reader before I started this sequel, and she claimed that if I didn't plan to write a sequel, some of my readers would actually go and make a FanFiction on my FanFiction. So, I'm wondering who would. Do any of you think you could do it? Just curious. And as an after thought, who wants to write chapter six for me? Just kidding, if you wanted to write a random scene, go ahead and send it to me in a PM, but otherwise, answer this question. Who wants chapter six to be up?**


	6. Released

**Lordlink13: For a good amount of you, this is where I'm beginning to rewrite. You'll probably notice some similarities - probably a lot at first - but I'm trying to start somewhat anew to see if I can avoid major writer's block as I had before (which caused the evil eight months of ultimate torment). I hope this version from here out is better and has more of my old **_**spunk**_**. And for those of you who are reading this for the first time, hope you enjoy it - especially if you've gotten this far. Read on!**

* * *

I endured an hour of questions from the Warden. I sat in his office with two guards of my own standing behind me to ensure that I didn't try to run. Commissioner Gordon waited off to the side, taking in the scene while the Warden ranted and threw many questions in my direction – most of them were just variations of "Are you sided with the Joker?"

"For the last time, Warden," I said, exasperatedly. "I didn't know _anything_ about the Joker's plan to escape. I didn't even know that was his _name_. Heck, if I was helping him, I doubt I would have remained in my cell!"

"What is he to you?" the Warden demanded, leaning over his desk, his fists digging into the top. Did he really think he was going to get an honest answer out of that one? Even though I wasn't sure whether the Joker was to be trusted like he claimed, I wasn't going to betray my first impression of him.

"Another patient," I replied with a shrug. "He didn't _try_ to corrupt me."

The Warden's face reddened, his veins pulsing in his neck. Before he said something he'd regret, the Commissioner intervened. "Warden, perhaps we should consider Dr. Young's suggestion," he said.

"To let her out of Arkham?" The Warden shook his head violently. "No, we can't risk it. She's in contact with the Joker!"

Gordon adjusted his glasses and suggested, "Maybe it'd be better to take Jane _away_ from the Joker." The Warden gave him a hard look, but by the way his gray eyebrows knitted together, he was considering what the Commissioner said. I simply sat there, afraid to speak for fear of losing my possible way out to freedom.

Finally, the Warden looked at me, his eyes hard, and asked, "You can handle her, Commissioner?"'

I felt like a child, under the Warden's stare. He didn't trust me, which wasn't a surprise, taking my contact with the Joker into consideration, but it wasn't fair. I hadn't done anything wrong; unless you count my emotional breakdowns, _mental_ breakdown, and self-abusive impulses, among my other problems. The Warden might not trust me simply because of my interaction with the Joker, but there was the possibility that he didn't trust someone like me to be anywhere but behind bars where I could be watched.

Besides, I _had_ been a criminal before I was even admitted into Arkham Asylum.

"She'd be in my charge, where she can be protected from the Joker." They continued the conversation without me, which was fine since it was about whether or not the Commissioner could control me while I was out in the city.

The Warden sat down in his huge chair and tapped his fingers against his desktop. He sighed and then asked, "Has Jane made a decision about it yet?"

"No," the Commissioner responded, "I was going to give her time to think it over, but with what's happened…" He trailed off, and I sensed his gaze shift to me. "I'm sorry to rush you, Jane."

"It's fine, Commissioner," I said, solemnly. I lifted my gaze to the Warden and looked him in the eye. I wanted him to know that I was serious. "I'll do it. Just keep me busy, and I should be okay."

* * *

The Joker scowled – or _tried_, since his scars formed his mouth in a permanent smile. He sat across from his doctor, from _Har_-leen. She was upset; it was obvious with the frown of her brow, the thin line of her lips, and the hurt look in her eyes.

He didn't care. She shouldn't have tried prying into something she wouldn't understand. He didn't like her _prying_ when it was related to Shadow. She might want to understand his interest in the sane criminal, but _he_ didn't want her to understand.

If she had _any_ sense, she wouldn't have _thought_ of prying.

"Why are you trying to contact her?" Harleen asked, making no effort to hide her anger.

The Joker ran his tongue on the inside of his cheek, narrowing his eyes slightly. "_Try_-ing isn't the _word_-ah," he said, coldly, "I suc-_ceed_-ed."

Her small hand clenched tightly. "_Why?_ Contacting someone who _helped_ you as you were doesn't help your treatment."

The Joker scoffed, mockingly. "_Act_-ually, talking to someone I'm _com_-fort-_able_ around _helps_. I've been helping her too."

"You're making it worse," she growled.

"Oh-no-no-no-_no_, I'm not a _pest_. It's a mutual re-_la-tion_-ship." His mouth twitched as he watched her face turn red. Her jealousy was even _more_ obvious than Shadow's had been earlier.

"She's _dangerous_," Harleen snapped.

The Joker perked his eyebrows, widening his eyes, mocking confusion. "She didn't _seem_ that dangerous."

Harleen raised a slender hand to her forehead, closing her eyes and rubbing her left temple irritably. "She has problems that cause her to have impulsive behavior. For months, she's been a constant pain for any doctor who thought they could cure her." She dropped her hand and opened her eyes, glaring at him. "You're my charge here in Arkham. I don't want you affiliating with such a dangerous person. She's probably the reason why _you're_ considered dangerous."

Taking all this in, the Joker couldn't help but smile. His doctor was so _ridiculous_. She thought Shadow made _him_ dangerous, when in reality; it had been the other way around. No, that's wasn't completely true. Shadow was dangerous before she came to Gotham. He just made her _deadly_. Of course, he didn't miss the fact that he was here _before_ Shadow, by a year or two.

As much as he began to _like_ this conversation, he didn't want to continue. "Listen, Doc," he said, shifting in his seat, "I'm _sorry_."

Harleen looked taken back, her mouth dropping open slightly.

The Joker eased his tense position, jerking his head to the side and cracking his neck loudly. Then, he leaned forward and softened his expression, giving her an apologetic puppy look. "I didn't realize you were, ah, _afraid_ for my safety, _Har_-leen." He licked his lips and said, "How 'bout I _promise_ not to see her again? Would that make you feel better?" He raised his eyebrows, gazing at her from underneath his brow.

His doctor didn't know how to react. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when words failed to come. The Joker watched her for a few moments as she tried again, only giving in to her own silence. She looked like a fish gasping for air. He sighed and said, "Just say, 'Yes, Mistah J, that'll make me feel better'."

"Yes, Mistah J," Harleen struggled, "That'll make me feel better…about your safety."

"Shucks, Doc, you're making me _blush_." To this, Harleen reddened and stood up, ducking her head to hide the blush on her cheeks.

The Joker was led back to his cell, but just inside his door, he half-turned toward the guard. The broad-shouldered guard narrowed his eyes as if he knew what was coming. "Lyle, I need a favor…"

* * *

For the few hours I had been back in my cell, the ceiling hadn't changed much; if anything, it started to spin a bit. I lied on my back, hands behind my head, sprawled on my cot with a leg dangling over the edge.

I didn't know whether or not to feel happy. After all the questioning, the Commissioner had finally convinced the Warden that it might be best for me to leave Arkham. Reluctantly, the Warden signed my papers, and I added my own signature to it. The Commissioner then took his leave, promising that someone would come to pick me up tomorrow morning.

I felt…lost. I was finally getting out of here, but that would mean my having to settle into the world again. What did I have to do once I got out? Get a license, get a car, get an apartment…I needed money for that, and as far as I knew, I had none.

"Memorizing the _ceil_-ing?"

I shrugged carelessly. "Figured I'd try to remember my first home." I arched my head back, looking over at the bars of my cell where he stood.

"So it _is_ your last night, huh?" he asked, quietly.

"You bet." I sat up and watched his dark hunched frame beyond the bars. "Come to say 'goodbye' then?"

He ran a hand through his curly hair, shrugging. "I guess it was _one_ reason."

"You have more? Do you have one for not telling me who you were, _Joker_?"

He was taken aback by my sharp tone, but he recovered, huffing irritably. "It doesn't seem like the name _sparked_ anything."

"And lying about not knowing anything about me," I growled, narrowing my eyes. "You aren't exactly a _friend_."

"So I broke your trust." He shrugged, like it didn't bother him much. "We'll just start from the beginning again."

"_Again_? We're not _going_ to start _anything_ again," I snapped. "You lied to me. Do you expect me to give you a _second_ chance?"

"Yeah" was his simple response. I closed my mouth before I continued to rant, surprised by his lack of hesitation. Who did he think he was? Did he think we were still friends after everything that's happened? I watched his hand as it lifted and rested on the bars. "May I come in?" he asked softly.

I glared at him. Why was he asking when he knew I was angry with him? What did it matter? I gave him a slow nod, shifting to one end of my bed and tucking my legs into my chest. He unlocked my door with his stolen keys and closed it behind him, before sitting down on the opposite end, leaning forward with his hands clasped.

For a few minutes, neither of us spoke, deep in our thoughts, or at least he was. I watched him closely, wondering if I really _had_ known him in the past. If I had, surely his name would have sparked a memory. I thought back to my session with Dr. Young in her office, when I had seen the Joker's folder. No, I realized, I _had_ had a sense of recognition, even if it didn't spark anything.

"Why are you here?" I asked. "If saying 'goodbye' was one of your reasons, what are the others?"

"To find out if you really were leaving, to see how you were doing, to know if you hate me…to apologize for lying…"

I detected something in his tone, but it was difficult with him hiding his true emotions. "Why did you lie to me?" I asked quietly. "Did you have something to _gain_? Someone put you up to it?"

"Myself," he replied, "I've lied to you before…before we both landed here."

"So you _did_ know me."

"I still do," he corrected. "Just because your memories are gone doesn't mean that you are _entirely_ gone."

"But what if I am?" I asked. "How could you tell?"

"You act pretty much the same as before; you're just…slacking in confidence…and memories." He lifted his head and glanced at me.

I shifted slightly, feeling like he was expecting something from me. "You didn't answer my question about why you lied to me."

"I told you, I did it before."

"For what? Did I know who you were at the time?"

His face scrunched up as he said, "Somewhat. It was a bind that I made with you, so I didn't reveal something to you."

"A bind?" I narrowed my eyes, concentrating, trying to remember.

"It's not that important for you to know since you solved the only way out of the bind." He reached over to stroke my hair. I slapped his hand away, stood and jumped over to the opposite wall, narrowing my eyes at him. He chuckled softly, smacking his lips. "Jumpy, aren't we?"

"I don't know whether to consider you a friend or foe."

"How 'bout neither?" he suggested. "I don't have to be _classified_, do I?"

"Well, aren't you classified already?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

The Joker shrugged, grinning with amusement. "Classified as the most dangerous criminal in Gotham City, as the most insane. I'm the Clown Prince of Crime!" He threw his arms out, making himself look ridiculous but more magnificent…in Arkham's jumpsuit.

"The Joker, eh?" I said, my eyebrow still raised. "Am I supposed to be screaming my head off and running for my life?"

"Well, that's the usual, most pre-_dic_-table response," he said, rolling his eyes like he couldn't believe it. "Yah know, people are so pre-_dic_-table in this city…" He raised his gaze to mine and smirked. "You happen to be _one_ of them." I frowned, unsure of what he meant.

Suddenly, he reached underneath my pillow and slid out my journal. I stepped forward quickly, but he waggled his finger at me. "Ah-ta-ta-tah, _Jane_, stay where you are."

"What are you doing?" I demanded, as he flicked open my journal and picked up the pen, placing the end in his mouth for a moment in thought. "Don't you write anything in that-."

His eyes peeked over the top of the book. "What are you gonna _do_ about it?" he giggled, amused that I was ordering him around.

I huffed. "That's _so_ mature."

"Isn't it?" He started scribbling something down on a blank page, but he looked up the moment I took a step forward. "_What_ did I _say_, Jane?" he asked, perking an eyebrow expectantly.

"My doctor will see that," I told him.

"No, she's _not_-ah. You're leaving. Why do they care?" I glared at him, causing him to chuckle with amusement before he returned his attention to what he was writing.

"It's not another list of occupations, is it?"

"You'll see," was his quick response.

I slid down the length of the wall until I collapsed to the floor, curling my legs up and hugging my knees. The Joker glanced at me, like he was making sure I was okay, but I ignored him, turning my head and staring out into the hallway.

"Anything you're gonna miss from this place?"

"No," I said, sighing. "Can't say there was anything _good_ about Arkham." I glanced at him to see a hurt expression on his face. "Okay, maybe _one_ thing."

"_Thing_?" The way he said it, half-insulted, half-amused, made me laugh. "Is _that_ what I am to you?" he demanded.

"I told you, I don't know _what_ you are." He pouted. "Listen, you're not a friend, and you're not an enemy. I don't know _what_ to call you."

"You could call me by my _name_," he suggested, grudgingly.

"Which one?" I asked as he snapped my journal closed.

He slipped it under my pillow and stood before he replied, "Either one. The Joker, when you're talking to someone else, but to me, if you don't mind, call me Mister J."

I jumped as a whining alarm abruptly blared. The Joker jerked his head, and his shoulders slumped. "They figured me out," he said. His eyes caught mine, and he smiled slightly. "That's my cue." He slipped out into the hallway quickly, re-locking my door.

"Will I see you again?" I asked, before I realized what I was asking.

He shoved his keys into his pocket before he looked at me. "Sure thing, Tiger," he said, with a wink. "_No_ one sees the last of me unless I _want_ them to." Without explaining, he broke into a run down the hall, vanishing from sight.

* * *

Penny, my female guard, took me off to the showers early the next morning, and when I got out, I discovered a set of normal clothing: a pair of jeans, a shirt, socks, and a pair of sneakers. Finally out of my Arkham jumpsuit, I felt different, more _secure_ in my skin, not a messed-up patient.

Penny brought me to the Warden's office, where I was to wait for my ride. Dr. Young waited with me, and out of curiosity, I asked, "Can I keep my journal?"

"I'm afraid not, Jane," Dr. Young answered. "That's part of your therapy. If it wasn't, I would've let you have it."

I sighed, slumping back in my chair. "There's no way I can convince you?"

She gave me a calculating look, and I wondered if I was acting suspicious. Of course, how suspicious could I be when the Joker's last note to me was already ripped out of the book and was now hiding my left sneaker?

Before she could speak, the door opened, and the Warden walked in, accompanied by another. "Ms. McKinley, this is Detective Nash," the Warden said, "He's providing your ride to the MCU."

I stood and shook Detective Nash's offered hand. His grasp was firm, confident. Giving him a quick look-over, he was good-looking. Tall, handsome, wavy red hair, intelligent eyes, clean look…this guy took care of himself and was very professional, serious about his situation. Just the way he stood showed his buoyancy.

Due to the Warden's impatience to be rid of me, the transaction processed fluently, with Detective Nash signing papers for my official release. He took my small backpack of the things I actually had from Arkham – nothing of true interest – and led me out to his car, a Volvo Sedan.

"I like the color," I remarked as I approached the passenger side where Detective Nash was holding the door open. "It's a nice blue."

"I would have preferred it green," he replied as I climbed in. "Here's your bag." I took it and set it on the floor between my feet. He headed around and stepped in, turning and holding out his hand again. "Warden didn't give me time to really introduce myself. I'm Detective Edward Nash."

"Jane McKinley," I responded, taking his hand again.

"Jane," he repeated, "That's a nice name."

"First thing I remembered." I shrugged. "Gordon told you?"

"Of course he did. I'm one of his top detectives." He smirked and added, "I'm one of the _worthy_ ones." He started the car and drove away from Arkham. I couldn't help turning in my seat, watching the asylum disappear gradually. It looked so depressing on the outside, no _wonder_ I had been slowly losing my mind.

"Did you know…" Detective Nash began and then stopped, chuckling to himself. "Sorry, you probably don't remember."

"What?" I asked, turning my attention to him.

"Arkham Asylum was originally in the dead center of the city, but they moved it to the outskirts, just to prevent something like Fear Night." He cleared his throat and continued. "Fear Night, in case you don't remember, was when fear toxin entered the air through the waterways. A man named Scarecrow was behind it, using the gas to turn Gotham's citizens against one another."

"Gruesome," I remarked, straightening in my seat and watching Gotham City as it approached. Upon first sight – not _really_ my first sight – I thought it was magnificent. In the late morning sun, the city was beautiful. I wondered if I was as amazed now as I was the _real_ first time I had seen this place, though I had an impression that I didn't. Something about the _time_ I was looking at this city felt wrong.

"It's a beautiful city…for having the highest crime rates," Detective Nash commented.

"Sorry."

"Why?" he asked, giving me a curious look.

"I _was_ a criminal," I said. "I was _part_ of the crime ratings."

"Before, yes, but not anymore. You're working for justice." He said it so casually, I wondered if he was hinting at something. He didn't say more, but I had the sense that he didn't really want to talk about it.

We drifted off into lighter conversation, like what I was doomed to do. He was taking me to the MCU first where I was, without a doubt, going to be tested in my abilities and have to pass their psychiatrist's examination before they made me official. There was a possibility, Nash informed me, that I would be assigned to one of Lt. Hawkins's detectives. At the mention of his name, I stiffened but hid it by adjusting in my seat and rubbing my knuckles, uneasily.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Sounds familiar for most of you, probably. Well, I didn't change much, merely shortened the chapter and hope to move on**** to the finish line, hopefully. Thank you for being patient. Leave reviews if you would like. Lordlink13 is back.**


	7. That Stupid Creeper, Jason Hawkins

I felt like the outsider.

Correction: I was the outsider.

What gave it away? Try the expression of distrust from the detective across the conference table. He sat there, munching on a donut and occasionally sipping from his coffee cup. I couldn't help thinking that he was the clique of all police – they love their donuts and are very prone to jokes on the streets about how they couldn't catch anyone due to their, ahem, obesity.

I left my hands out in plain sight, clasping them and resting them on the table surface. The detective kept his eyes fixed on me, barely blinking. He wasn't young, probably late-thirties, early-forties. It wouldn't be an understatement if I said he was round, because he was, round and plump. Jet black hair sat upon his big head, looking thin and rugged. His beady eyes never moved away from mine, starting a staring contest, whether he knew it or not.

The silence killed me, and the staring contest was the only thing I concentrated, to ignore the buzzing in my right ear because of the silence.

Our intense staring contest broke off when the Commissioner entered the room. The munching detective won; I looked away, distracted by the opening of the door.

The Commissioner walked in with a manila folder in his hands, one I assumed was mine, and he slapped it down in front of the eating detective before taking a seat. Finally, the detective dropped his gaze and away from me. His huge fingers flipped open the folder, and he quickly read through the contents. My guess was that he had already read everything beforehand and was making a show of refreshing his memory.

When he closed the folder and slid it back to the Commissioner, he looked at me, and distrust flashed in his eyes; he had already made his mind up about me, and nothing would change it.

"Do you know one another?" Gordon asked, noting how the detective stared me down. Very conscious, I shook my head.

"Bullock," the detective said gruffly before the Commissioner could chastise him.

"McKinley," I said, using the same tone. He glared at me, as if to say that he knew who I was, and I returned it, as if to tell him that I didn't care.

The Commissioner raised a gray eyebrow when I glanced at him. "McKinley, besides me and your patrol officer, Bullock will be the only other on this force who will know your situation."

"And where is her patrol officer?" Bullock asked, his tone sharp. Gordon threw a sharp stare at him. I fought the urge to intervene and step in for Bullock; he hadn't shown me any mercy, simply passed judgment without getting to know me beyond the contents of my identity folder.

"He's on patrol."

"Typical Hawkins, out somewhere else but not where he is supposed to be." Bullock caught the look the Commissioner gave him. "I'm at least here, to 'welcome' the new arrival." My eyes narrowed at his sneer.

"Hawkins is still doing his job. However," Gordon said, "Since he's not here to brief the new arrival, I'm asking you to."

"Brief?" Bullock said, his beady eyes widening slightly.

"Yes, brief her."

"Yes sir," Bullock said, reluctantly, "But isn't this against some kind of -oh, I don't know- rule?" He knew it was a risk to ask, but his temper overtook him, his plump face reddened. If I didn't know that he despised me already, I would have found out with his question, his tone, and his rising temper.

Gordon fixed him with a hard stare, one that hide more meaning that what I could read. Bullock obviously received the message because he stood and turned his gaze, fixing me with his beady eyes.

Placing his hands flat on the conference table, he leaned forward, looming over me. "Here's your briefing, McKinley," he said, his tone hard. "Listen up because I'm not going to repeat anything. If you can't catch everything-." Gordon cleared his throat. "You report every day, in the evening, to Lieutenant Hawkins, as he is your parole officer. As this is your new location to serve your 'sentence', you won't be given any privileges equal to the detectives. You are a clerk, a receptionist, whoever does the paperwork. It is your job to keep things up-to-date, to answer the phones, to send the messages to paroling police officers, and to tidy the paperwork. If you think you need access to any of the police files, you will go to Nash for that information; you will not access them yourself. You do what you're told and stay out from underfoot. Capice?"

I nodded, and Bullock huffed angrily before storming out of the conference room, slamming the door behind him. He had spoken quickly; the information was a lot to process, but whether it is luck or my intelligence is sharp, I memorized every word he said within the span of the minute that it had been spoken.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes after Bullock had left. I itched to break it, but I had no idea what I would say. The Commissioner already had troubling thoughts; I wondered how many times he had envisioned how he was going to reprimand Bullock and how many times had he killed him.

Let's be honest. Someone does something you don't like, and you've killed them at least seven times in different ways in your head for it. Even sane people do this, to simply amuse themselves or work out their frustration. The only difference between them and the murderers; well, quite simply put, the murderer's envisionaries became real.

Gordon shifted, finally emerging from his dark thoughts, whatever they had been, and he turned to me with an apologetic expression. Before he could speak, I shook my head.

"I'd rather know if someone disliked me than have them seething every time I turned my back. I wasn't expecting acceptance and a warm welcome from the detectives chosen to know about the true reason why I'm here. I knew what I was getting into; there's no need to apologize, Commissioner."

He closed his mouth, nodding as relief washed over his face. "I hope you caught everything."

"I did. No need to worry."

Again, that nod of relief. He stood and motioned me to stand; I followed suite, wondering what else I had to do. "To fill the requirements, even receptionists in the MCU need to take the basic tests on your knowledge of legal matters. However, in your case, you will also be taking some on police procedures and your analytical aptitude, eventually physical ones."

"Are you telling me that there is a chance I could advance from a 'clerk'?" I asked.

"A possibility, depending on your work ethics." Gordon moved to the door and opened it, motioning me out. "Nash is in charge of those tests, but I want you to tell him that he is not to test you until you come in tomorrow."

I nodded.

"His office is around the corner to the left. Tell him what I said, and that you are in his hands."

Again, I nodded. Gordon disappeared, abandoning me to find my way to Nash's office.

Nash smiled when I tapped on the glass and motioned me inside. "Shut the door behind you, if you would." I obeyed without question, understanding that I was in his territory. "Good news for you, McKinley," he said, "Thanks to the contribution from a secret admirer, I have you a place to stay."

"A secret admirer?" I asked. Naturally, I would have been flattered, but taking into consideration who I once was, a 'secret admirer' could mean an enemy who means to kill me as soon as I let my guard down.

"You don't need to be worried. Mr. Bleak's a gentleman, not a criminal." Nash must have noticed the blank look on my face because he continued. "He contributed money to a research project in Arkham, of building something specifically designed for you. He felt that it was wrong for a human being to be chained, especially when she is still a sane, thinking person."

"Are you supposed to know about that?" I asked him.

"Are you?" he returned without skipping a beat. When I didn't reply, he raised his eyebrows, drooping his head slightly, as if saying See? "Have a seat, make yourself at home." I took the one chair that wasn't cluttered with books. "I'm the genius with technology," he explained. "One of the detectives, yes, but my area is computers. I suppose you could call me the police hacker, even though that would infer that I was doing something illegal."

"Well, aren't you?" I asked, using a light tone.

"Well, yeah, but it's not like they need to know that." He winked. "So, in a way, that makes me a criminal too. Two peas in a pod full of legal people."

I raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Are you suggesting that we go and commit criminal acts together, Nash?"

"No, just that we back one another up. Of course, it's your choice. I wasn't even chosen to know about your secret past; Hawkins was supposed to pick you up from the asylum."

"How did it come around to you?"

"I pulled the shortest straw."

I shook my head. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

He shrugged. "You want to see your results?" he asked.

"Results?"

He motioned me over, indicating his laptop screen. "According to your records, you've lived in Gotham City for the past two years, living in a decent apartment and working as an editor for a small publishing company that went under. Last August, you disappeared after checking into an old motel for the night. Later that night, the Joker blew that place to pieces." He glanced up at me. "Do you remember any of that?"

"Vaguely," I replied, frowning. "Not working as an editor, but the motel. Why would I get a motel if I already had an apartment?"

"If the Joker blew up that motel, I'd suspect that he was following you and knew where you lived," Nash said, calmly.

"So, maybe I found out and tried to hide?" I suggested. Nash shrugged, and I murmured, "All the good it did me."

"Don't worry about it," he suggested, standing and clapping a hand on my shoulder. "The Joker's behind bars. No need to worry about him coming after you again."

I was about to reply that he was the least of my problems, but I stopped as Nash grabbed his jacket. "Where are you going?"

"To reopen your bank account," he replied, innocently, "Which you have to come with me since it's in your name." Then, he explained, "They closed everything under your name when you disappeared, and if you don't show up within a certain time, they permanently destroy your records."

"Hm." I followed him out of his office, which he locked up. After retrieving my jacket from the lobby, I told him, "Honestly, I'm only interested in my old apartment. You said that you had a place to stay for me."

"So I did." He laughed at my expression as we climbed into his car. "All in good time, all in good time."

It took over an hour to reactivate every account I had recorded. Bank account, credit cards, driver's license (I have no idea why I had that since I didn't have a car), Social Security, and a variety of others. Nash purposely brought me to the apartment last, most likely thinking that it'd be the last stop where he could simply drop me off once I was settled in.

As we pulled into a parking spot across the street, Nash cursed under his breath. I looked over to see what he had seen, and even I muttered a curse, swearing loudly in my head, but for a reason I didn't know. What I did know was that I recognized the man that I felt extreme hatred for - didn't know why and didn't know how I knew him, but on first sight, I immediately connected the name to the face.

Waiting outside my apartment building, leaning casually against his black Honda Civic, was Jason Hawkins, the man who caused my entire body to burn with hatred at the very sight of him. He stared expectantly, waiting patiently for Nash and I to climb out of the car and make our approach. I only followed Nash's movements, climbing out when he did, and surprisingly, Jason's face lit up when I turned and caught his eyes.

As we approached, I couldn't help but look over his familiar features. I vaguely remembered he was only a few months older than I, but his youth didn't appear as clearly, due to his years of working with the cops. His hair had been combed back, the brown locks parting naturally down the middle of his head. Despite not remembering when I had last seen him, a thought crossed my mind that it had grown longer, and it didn't show any signs of having been trimmed recently.

The rest of him appeared familiar enough that there had been no recent changes. Naturally, as a cop, he had a fit figure, ready to tackle criminals or chase them down the street. He held himself proudly, but also lightly, a guy who took his job seriously. His eyes were a brilliant blue, shining brightly as Nash and I neared.

"I thought you were on patrol," Nash said, in way of greeting.

Jason slowly took his eyes off me, lazily looking at Nash. He wasn't hiding his reluctance very well. "We finished earlier than expected, and I needed to be here, to show her the apartment."

"I can show her the apartment," Nash retorted.

"I'm her patrol officer, Edward."

I stood there, watching the two of them glare at one another. Heaving a sigh, I waited, expecting a catfight to occur. Fortunately, Nash's cell phone rung, and he had to drop his intense gaze to check it. He ended up having to answer it, and I caught a smug look cross Jason's face.

He turned back to me. "I'm Lieutenant Jason Hawkins," he said, holding out a hand.

Despite the repelling disgust, I took his offered appendage. "You're the one Commissioner Gordon said knew me."

"Back in college, we were friends." He smiled. "I recognized your name and later your picture. For old times' sake, I wanted to offer to help you out, what with everything you've been through."

"I appreciate it," I said, attempting to keep my voice even and grateful. Nash snapped his phone shut, grumbling unhappily. "What's up?"

"I'm being called back," he explained.

"I'll finish what you started," Jason injected.

Nash gave him a weary look. "If McKinley is fine with it..."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Controlling my hatred for Jason was unbelievably difficult. If only I knew why I hated him so much, I might not have such a hard time with it. Nash looked at me, staring so long that I thought he could read my true feelings toward the lieutenant in my expression, but finally, he nodded and asked if he would see me tomorrow.

"Gordon said I had to be in for tests," I said.

"Oh right. I forgot about those," Nash said. "But he said it was okay to push it off until tomorrow?"

"Affirmative."

"Then, I'll see you tomorrow." He gave Jason a slight parting nod and crossed the street back to his car.

Jason immediately steered me toward my designated apartment building. "You're aware that it is your-."

"Old apartment, yes," I interrupted, being unable to stop myself. To stop him from giving me information that I already knew, I continued. "Nash and I went over everything; the last thing he had to do was show me to my apartment." I was hoping that would deflate his growing hope - if it was that - but he merely smiled and led the way up the front steps.

He buzzed the landlord's apartment and waited. "Your landlord is Mr. Wood," he informed me, to which I resisted rolling my eyes. I wasn't blind or illiterate; I could read the name underneath the buzzer he pushed.

A woman responded to the call, demanding to know who it was. "Lieutenant Hawkins, ma'am," Jason replied, politely. "I've come with Ms. Jane McKinley."

"Jane McKinley?" Instantly, the door clicked. "Hurry right in," the woman said.

"Thank you, ma'am," Jason said and moved to open the door, but I had already opened it and was holding it for him. He mumbled a thank-you, and upon turning my face, I smirked - a little victory for me.

"Oh, Jane!" I glanced at the far end of the lobby, and an old woman hustled over in my direction. I noticed that she shuffled with a limp, and curiosity got the better of me; I looked down to see that her right leg was badly twisted. Upon reaching me, she threw her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly and thanking God for keeping me safe. As she stepped away, I looked at her closely, guessing she was the landlord's wife.

Mrs. Wood was a stout, little woman who appeared to be in her late fifties. She wore her premature hair all pinned up into a neat bun. Surprising for her age, I could hardly see any wrinkles on her sweet face.

While I had been taking in her features, she had asked me how I was, that she missed me and worried greatly, and finally asking who my friend was - appearing to have forgotten that Jason had introduced himself on the intercom, which made me smile. I swear, I almost had to ask her to repeat it all, she spoke so fast - probably from the excitement of seeing me for the first time in months. I introduced Jason, and she went off, praising the police force for enduring the constant struggle against the Mob and other criminals; I hid my mouth behind my hand, hearing the sarcasm oozing off of her statement – luckily, Jason didn't catch on.

Finally, I had to draw the conversation back (as one-sided as it was), and asked for my key.

"Of course, Jane. Let me get it. You're on the fifth floor, room 444." As she scuffled to the cabinet where the keys were held, I couldn't help but narrow my eyes. For some reason, the number four popped up around me quite enough, like it enjoyed following me around. I wondered if it meant something to me, or if it was simply coincidence.

"Are you all right, Jane?" Jason asked, suddenly interrupting my thoughts.

I glanced at him, tempted to explode, but I fought the urge. "I just...I remember that number as my address, that's all."

"Well, that's good," he said, cheerfully. "Little details should come first before the bigger emerges."

"Yeah..." Mrs. Wood returned, and I smiled politely as she handed over my key.

"I kept the place tidy for you, after I found out that you went missing. It was nice of Mr. Bleak to keep paying your rent for so long; he's such a good friend. I'm so glad you're all right, Jane. Come by anytime to visit. You're more than welcome."

"Thank you, Mrs. Wood," I said, and she finally hustled back into her own apartment. "Nice lady," I commented.

"Indeed," Jason said. Was it just me or did I hear resentment in his voice? Maybe it was the mention of Mr. Bleak, a reminder that he wasn't the only one helping me out. I didn't know, but it sounded funny in my head, that Jason would be jealous of another man aiding me in my return to society. It wasn't my problem; my problem was that I didn't know anything about this Mr. Bleak, and when I had the time, I had to find out. I didn't like the idea of a mysterious man helping me.

Jason followed me as I headed up the stairs to the second floor, watching the numbers of the doors until I found mine. I inserted the key and unlocked the door, pushing it open.

"Careful, there might be someone in there," Jason said, and I hesitated, glancing at him nervously. He grinned, revealing that he had only been joking, and I resisted the urge to punch him. I knew this move; he was attempting to break the ice again.

"Mind checking anyway?" I asked him, stepping aside and looking at him innocently.

"I'm sure it's safe," he said, motioning me first.

"I'm an ex-criminal and an ex-patient at Arkham Asylum," I pointed out. "I could have enemies who were just waiting for me to either escape or be released." He nodded, his eyes smiling, and he stepped inside to check it out. I chuckled to myself. Toying with him helped with keeping my hatred at bay.

After a few minutes, he called for me. "It's safe."

"Are you sure?" I asked, purposely sounding uneasy.

"It's all clear. No explosives or traps. It's safe to come in."

I rolled my eyes, smirking to myself, before I stepped inside.

I blinked, surprised by the brightness of the light. Once my eyes adjusted, I found that I was looking straight into the living room, where all the curtains were open and the blinds up, revealing the early afternoon and allowing the natural light inside. I stepped over the threshold and simply took in the view.

To the left of the door awaited the kitchenette, part of the living room. All the appliances were white and high-quality. I liked that the counters weren't white; they were a gentle grayish-blue. The last thing I needed was to feel that I was still living in an asylum. Upon searching the refrigerator and the cabinets, I discovered they were empty, which was no surprise since I hadn't been here for months. An island counter with bar stools separated the kitchenette from the living room.

The living room was spacious and well-furnished with ornate pictures on the walls. Various small plants sat scattered about the room on little tables. I flicked on the light switch, testing the lighting and finding it satisfactory. I especially liked the sitting area, which consisted of a lounging chair that matched a large couch, complete with a coffee table and an entertainment system set up along the opposite wall.

"It's a nice apartment," Jason commented, trying again to start a conversation. "It definitely says something about living a criminal life. If you can get away with it, you'll be living in style." I couldn't tell if he was joking with me, or if he was trying to start something. To see, I checked over my shoulder, but he wasn't looking at me, busy analyzing the movie collection I had. Maybe it had only been a comment.

"Mind you, I worked as an editor while I lived here," I told him, remembering the little details that Nash had revealed. "As a criminal, I never came here."

"An editor at a small company that eventually went under. You were unemployed before you disappeared."

I didn't not to say anything and instead opened the door to the bathroom, flicking on the light.

It was small and very green. The walls had been painted a light shade of olive. An emerald mat rested on the green-and-white tiled floor near the shower. I counted how many mirrors there were, finding five, four over the sink and toilet, and one large one on the opposite wall. I touched the bottom edge of one mirror and discovered it had a cabinet behind it, which of course was empty, like the rest of them.

Satisfied, I flicked off the light and turned to leave. A short cry escaped my lips as Jason was standing right there.

"Pardon me," he said, stepping out of the way. "It's a nice bathroom."

"Thank you." My heart pounded furiously in my chest from the fright he had given me, and my paranoid mind went through reasons why he might have done that. Was he trying to scare me on purpose or had he simply been looking over my shoulder at the bathroom? His comment had been the same as the one about the apartment, but then, he was a guy; he probably didn't have any other describing word in his mental dictionary.

I opened the second door connected to the living room, forcing myself to act normal. Here was the bedroom, containing a bureau, a desk, and a queen-sized bed. I had a walk-in closet too, filled with clothing. Glancing at the tags, I discovered they were my size, so they had to be mine. Frowning, I moved to the bureau and opened it, finding that it too was filled with clothes, all in my size.

"Is it to your satisfaction?" Jason asked, appearing in the bedroom doorway.

I slammed the bureau drawer shut, closing my eyes tightly, inhaling sharply. "You mind not creeping up on me?" I demanded.

"I apologize," he said, "I don't know why you're so on edge."

"Because I'm around someone I don't know." Which wasn't true because I did know him, subconsciously. "I haven't gotten used to you yet." I opened my eyes and gave him a hard stare.

His face was apologetic. "I keep forgetting that you don't remember," he said, in way of explanation. "You act like you used to, so it's hard to-." He stopped himself and then said, "Can I start from beginning?"

"It's 'may'," I corrected him, "And you can - without introducing yourself again because I knew your name and status." I didn't want him to, but I had been trying hard to keep my hatred under control. With the last fright, I had slipped up, and I felt guilty for it - but not guilty at the same time. Still, I figured it would get him off my back, and I would learn a little more about my background with him. I might catch a hint as to why I hated him so much, deep down.

"How about I explain while we drop back the store?" Jason suggested. "Your cabinets are looking a bit depressing with nothing in them."

"As is the fridge," I said. "All right, let me make a list first, and then we can go." I rifled through my desk, locating paper and pen but also finding a wallet. Curiously, I snatched it and went through it.

It wasn't a wallet made for a checkbook, just for cash and cards. I checked the card slots, finding them all full, and I pulled out the first two, discovering that they were two IDs. My picture...but with a different name on each. Checking the rest, I found a bunch of them, all from different states.

Panicking, I yanked them out and tossed them into the desk drawer, hoping Jason wasn't watching me and noticing what I was throwing. I placed my new ID card, one with my actual name and current picture, into the clear slot before slipping in my Debit card and some cash inside. Funny, I had some cash in there already, which I quickly checked to make sure it was real.

"You ready? Sorry," Jason said as I jumped. "I'll try to make noise next time."

"That'd be preferable." I quickly made a list of things I could need, food, cooking items, necessities (some of which I wouldn't be getting in Jason's presence), and miscellaneous. Folding the list and slipping it into my wallet, I turned and headed out into the living room.

"Now you ready?" Jason asked, standing by the door, hand resting on the doorknob.

"Yes. Let's go."

* * *

**Lordlink13: ****Chapter seven is up for all you readers.**


	8. Mystery Package

"Can I ask you a question?"

"I don't know. Can you?" Jason threw a look in my direction, and I smirked. "I suppose you can..._after_ you tell me how we know each other."

"That's not entirely fair."

"Well, life isn't fair to anyone, especially to those of us who can't remember anything that occurred more than a few months ago." I muffled a chuckle, simply enjoying myself. Jason's face had darkened, and playing the part, I shoved his shoulder. "C'mon then. Start from us being college friends."

"Right, college friends." Jason paused for too long, and I thought he wouldn't speak at all. He must have been collecting his thoughts, however. "We met in college."

"What college?" I loved this a little too much. My question threw off whatever he thought he was going to say.

"Boston College?"

"You're not sure?" I shook my head and hid my eyes behind a hand. "Even _you_ don't remember."

"No, I remember. It _was_ Boston College." I glanced at Jason and realized I was definitely getting him going. His jaw had set, and a vein pulsed in his neck.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he said, calmly. "We had a few classes together."

"Which classes?"

"Um...English, Algebra-."

"I don't think college students take Algebra. It's more Calculus and Trigonametry."

"Do you want to know how we met or not?"

"You just told me." I smiled playfully at him when he turned to give me a look. "Keep your eyes on the road and keep talking. I want to _know_ more."

Jason shook his head. "You were an English major. You loved reading, almost always had your head in a book."

"What was my favorite?" I asked. I had a very strong sense of deja vu, but I felt that something was off, something was different from the last time I heard someone say that.

"I...don't know. You had many." That wasn't the answer I was expecting, especially when a name, or possibly a title to a book, crossed my mind. _Berry Tucker_. "I know that you didn't enjoy the Shakespearean works."

"All of them?"

"Well, maybe one or two of them you didn't like."

I sensed he was fibbing a little too much, but then, how was I supposed to know for sure? I was the one who couldn't remember anything about her past, besides what has happened in the recent months. "So, we had a few classes together. And?" I prompted.

With another long pause, he continued to explain how we used to work together on projects. Some professors believed in having us work in groups so that we learned from our peers, which Jason thought was ridiculous due to we having been college students, not in high school. He claimed we had an endless line of jokes for those professors. He laughed, like he was remembering the good old times, but I simply smiled, not catching on.

"I guess those days are over," he said, sounding disappointed.

"Very much so."

"You changed quite a bit."

"You can't expect me to come back from not remembering and simply jump back into what my life had been."

"Well, you're not," Jason said, "You were a criminal before. Now you're on the right side, the good side."

"Technically, that is debateable." His neck cracked, he had swirled his head that fast. "No, it's not a debate I would like to get into with you."

"Why not?" he asked. "You know how we met."

"But I don't know about _us_." I looked at him, meeting his eyes for the few seconds he had them off the road. "Were we an item at one point?"

He looked away and cleared his throat as he pulled into a parking spot in front of Lacey's Department Store, its sign "The place to go where you just don't know" in the windows. "Lock your door when you get out," he said as he stepped out. I followed, obeying his order and locking my door before slamming it shut.

Jason pushed the cart through the store while I snatched items from the shelves. He kept the conversation going, with miniumal effort – purposely avoiding my question. I finally gave in and figured now wasn't the time to get the answer.

"So, when did you go to the police academy?" I asked him.

"I dropped out of college halfway through the second year," he replied, casually.

"Why? Your major wasn't interesting enough."

"It was interesting enough, but police work was more..."

I raised an eyebrow. "The word you're looking for is..._fun_?"

"I suppose that could work." He glanced at me, and when I flashed him a smile, he returned it, perking up slightly.

We bought what I needed from the department store and moved on to buy groceries. Since Jason had done it earlier, I kept the conversation going, asking him about his time as a police officer before he made his way up the ladder to lieutenant rank. It gave me time to assess him, as a cop, but I also noticed how sure he sounded about his story rather than he was about mine with him.

We returned to the apartment and started unpacking everything, placing food and drinks into the refridgator, cans and boxes into cabinets. Jason wasn't bothered by my having gone into the bathroom and closet to store everything else; he raised his voice while he talked so that I could hear him. He had lots of stories, but by the time we were done unpacking, I was done listening to him.

"You never answered my question."

"What question?" Jason asked, confused.

"_The_ question. The horrible question that one should never ask of the opposite gender when one doesn't remember her past." I grinned; he didn't look pleased by my use of sarcasm. I let him think for a minute to figure out which question I was talking about. His face lit in rememberance and then darkened again as he realized I was going to push for an answer. "Shall I repeat the _dreaded_ question?" I asked, empathizing the 'dreaded' in a dramatic tone.

"No, you don't have to." He sighed, faced me and met my eyes. "Yes, we were in a relationship before you disappeared," he said. "You disappeared and we're apparently no more."

"I wouldn't say that. There's always another chance." I wanted to smack myself across the face for saying that, but it was too late now.

Hope radiated dimly in his eyes. "You think?" he asked, hoping for comfort.

Even though I felt none for him, I clapped a hand on his shoulder and shrugged. "You never know, it might hit me, and we'll be together again." Then, to jerk him around, I added, "I mean, we are. I've reappeared and come back, without memories attached, but there's always a chance." I almost said _Don't give up hope_, but managed to catch myself before I did more damage.

A happy yet nervous laugh escaped him, and for a moment, he looked very boyish, very young. An unnecessary pang of guilt shot through me as I realized that I've given him hope for something that might not even happen. In my head, I chastised myself for thinking that since what did I know about how our relationship had been going. Which reminded me...

"Now that I know that, maybe you could tell me a little about us," I said, trying to sound casual.

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

I thought about it and then nodded.

"Well, my honest opinion is that you've heard enough from me, and I should let you turn in." I pouted, playing around, and Jason smiled. "You have a big day tomorrow. Still have to suffer through Nash's tests and all, get aquainted with the detectives and the officers. You need your rest."

"Nah, why would I need that?" I said, jokingly.

He smiled and headed for the doorway. Opening the apartment door, he turned just over the threshold. "On second thought, would you like to grab dinner?"

"Um, are you asking or offering?"

"A bit of both," he replied, shrugging casually. "You wouldn't have to cook dinner or make dirty dishes in the sink."

"What's wrong with dirty dishes in the sink?"

"Didn't you know? If you leave them alone in the sink all night, they _multiply_." He arched an eyebrow, watching me for a reaction, and I rolled my eyes in response.

"You're such a guy," I said. "I'd take you up on dinner, but I'm kinda tired with everything today. And like you said, I have a big day tomorrow."

"I'll miss you," he said. I watched him as he made an attempt at a puppy face, looking sad and lonely.

"You'll see me at the MCU. You're my parole officer so of course you'll see me again."

"Which reminds me. I need to give you my cell number." Jason grabbed his notebook out of his coat pocket, scribbling numbers in a specific order, tearing it out. Handing me the loose paper, he said with a wink, "Don't lose it."

"Of course not," I said, grinning with the prospect of causing the paper's demise.

"Are you sure you don't want dinner?" he asked, bringing the subject back. "We could have take-out, if you want."

"Really, Jason, I appreciate it, but maybe next time." Again, I wanted to hit myself, but that would look weird to him. And I didn't want to be sent back to Arkham because I had a sudden fit and needed to slam my head against walls.

Jason finally turned to leave, but I sensed his reluctance.

"Quick question," I said. He stopped and turned back. "Okay, maybe two questions, but they're similiar."

"Shoot," he said.

"Did you do anything to surprise me?" I asked.

"That's a strange question."

"I know, but answer it."

"Yeah. You didn't like being surprised though. I've had a couple of shoes thrown at my head a few times."

I nodded and then jumped straight into my actual question. "Did you ever do anything that would tick me off?"

"Um..." He reddened, rubbing his neck consciously. "Like, what do you mean? Like I said something that angered you or anything?"

"Anything like that, yeah."

"Ah..." He hesitated. "We dated in college. I broke up with you; you didn't...handle it well." I sensed truth in the him breaking up with me part; it had a familiar ring to it.

Finally, Jason left, and I turned my back, leaning against the closed door. Heaving a deep sigh, I realized that I shouldn't have kept him so long. I had been setting myself up for a possibility of having the two of us "get back together", which Jason would no doubt be happy about, but me – not so much.

I glanced at the paper he gave me with his number scribbled on it and flashed through my ideas. I didn't want to simply throw it away, but rather all I wanted to do was throw the paper into the garbage disposal and turn it on, watching the tiny pieces flying out of it as it tore the rest mercilessly. Oh, the temptation! But I was a good girl and added his number to my contacts, listing him as my one and only. I'd have to remember to retrieve other contacts tomorrow while at the MCU.

Despite Jason having mentioned dinner, I wasn't hungry. It had been a busy day; Nash had taken me out for lunch at a simple resturant – he only has a cop's salary – but it was nice...and many hours ago. However, I had no appetite, and besides, I felt nervous, being alone for the first time today.

Alone...in my apartment. No, it didn't feel like my apartment now, just a strange place where I was alone – my only company were my own thoughts.

Paranoia settled into my thoughts, my current enemy. The apartment contained a stereo, but I didn't trust myself to pick a CD and pop it in. Not yet anyway.

Snatching a kitchen knife, I crept throughout my apartment, searching behind doors and inside cabinets and closets. I ran my hand along cabinet and doorframes and underneath tables, counters, and my bed. My keen attention to touching every surface, every crevice, and every corner of the apartment kept me from panicking. Later, I would simply assume that my criminal instincts had awakened and searched for any evidence of bombs, cameras, or bugs – you can never be too careful, especially in a city like Gotham.

Finally, I collasped on the couch, still clenching the knife in my hand. My thoughts, finally freed from their bondage, conflicted in a mass inside my head, half of me convinced I had looked over everything and half of me convinced that I still had missed places.

In an attempt to distract myself, I retrieved my laptop and the many IDs from my desk and perched myself on the couch's edge, prepared to bolt if I had to. Looking over my other identities didn't help much since they claimed that women under the names on my IDs were either missing or dead. With some fiddling, I managed to check pictures and fingerprints, finding that none of them were me.

So, either these IDs were proof of me stealing other women's identities, or someone – either me or some other criminal who may or may not be helping me – went through a lot of trouble to destroy any connections to my true past.

For the moment, I was distracted, wondering what my true past was. I knew the facts that others have told me and what I have read from Nash's findings, but it didn't seem to sound like me. I rubbed my knuckles roughly in frustration; I hated that I didn't remember who I had been. Why couldn't I simply _remember_?

I eyed the apartment with suspicion, but also narrowed my eyes. So many questions about my past life. All I remembered were the five months in Arkham; nothing before that. I knew next to nothing – it didn't help that I had no _emotion_ to connect the few things that sounded right from my knowledge.

Looking about the apartment, I suddenly felt restless. I couldn't stay here, couldn't be here by myself. Maybe I could go for a walk and work things out in my head, or at least clear it of the paranoia. But then again, I wasn't sure if that would be a good idea seeing as I didn't know an ally from an enemy. Did I want to risk my neck on my first night free?

I jumped as the apartment intercom buzzed loudly, piercing through the quiet. Heart pounding furiously, I crept over, half-expecting the door to fly open and an assiliant bursting in. I reached the intercom and depressed the button.

"Hello?"

"_Oh good, you're in. It's Mrs. Wood."_

I released the breath I was holding and rolled my eyes, breathing easier now that I knew who it was. "Hi, Mrs. Wood. What can I do for you?"

"_It's more what I could do for you. You have a package down here."_

I arched an eyebrow. "From whom?"

"_For all I know, a secret admirer. If you have time, why don't you come on down and retrieve it?"_

"I'm free. Let me head on down." Mrs. Wood had made my decision for me, and it helped; I wasn't going to be alone for a time. A little visit with my landlord's wife couldn't hurt. I grabbed my keys and headed down.

Mrs. Wood answered the door, dressed in an apron and carrying a wooden spoon. She invited me inside and led me through their apartment. Down a hallway, she pushed the door open, and we entered a large, clean kitchen filled with a mixture of aromas.

"Your package is on the counter," Mrs. Wood said. "So, how are you settling in?"

"Well enough," I said. She smiled as she spooned out some soup from a huge pot on the stove. "Oh, no need to worry about-."

"You look hungry, and even if you don't feel like eating, it's good to have something in your stomach." She passed the bowl across the island to me. "Besides, it looks like you've had a busy day, running around and setting yourself up as a legal citizen."

I tensed, catching the reference that she did appear to know more than she had earlier when Jason had been accompanying me.

"No worries, dear. I was a criminal myself when I was younger, when I was your age, maybe. My thirties had been my prime years, but then, the accident occurred and I gave up my illegal ways and turned to cooking." She motioned about the kitchen with her spoon.

I glanced nervously at the bowl of steaming soup before me.

"Don't worry. I'm not trying to poison you."

"I'd hope not." I took a spoonful, tasting the flavor that ran smoothly down my throat. "That's good," I commented.

"Secret recipe."

I nodded and then remembered something she had said earlier. "You had mentioned Mr. Bleak before who was paying my rent even though I hadn't been here."

"Oh yes, of course. To be honest, I said what I had to. I don't trust cops, blame it on my previous lifestyle. That, and Ron is such a nice man; I owe him my life."

"Ron?" I asked, confused by the name change.

"Ron Bleak, he saved me from the wreckage that caused this." She motioned to her twisted leg. "He's a good friend of yours, even though you may not remember."

"How much do you know?"

"Just about everything. That you're suffering from amnesia and that you needed a place to settle in."

I fell silent as I mentally pieced the parts together. "I never lived here before."

"Smart girl. I may have given up my illegal life, but if there are young criminals, such as yourself, in need, I can't help myself but get involved."

"You realize I'll be working for the cops."

"But you also know the criminal's honor."

"They don't have honor," I argued.

"Depends on what level of criminal they are," Mrs. Wood said. "You wouldn't turn me in, especially when I hold information against you, if I chose to use it." She wiggled her gray eyebrows at me. "Don't worry about Mr. Bleak. He's not your enemy. He's a good man with the wrong crowd. But, I can promise you this, his intentions are good, especially for you."

Close to midnight, I finally left Mrs. Wood after a long conversation about her past crimes. I brought my package back to my apartment and set it on the counter. There it sat, a normal-sized box, weighing less than ten pounds, with no return address. I assumed it wasn't a motion-sensing or timed bomb – though there had been advances that made timed bombs tick the seconds down in _silence_ – but then, I only had my instincts to go on. And surprisingly, my paranoia didn't kick back in.

Using a kitchen knife, I broke the tape around it and opened it up. Clothing sat on top, which surprised me, and it acted as protection for the other items. One-by-one, I unpacked the box, pausing when I recognized the hardbound journal that held part of the record of my time in Arkham Asylum. Curious, I wondered: was the package from Dr. Young?

I laid everything out on the countertop and then pushed the box to the ground, my hands resting on the counter's edge. Laying before me was a pair of black pants, a red long-sleeved shirt, a black leather vest, black leather gloves, a purple jacket, a black-studded belt, a deep purple choker, a digital watch, black Skechers, my Arkham journal, and a worn-out book called _Berry_ _Tucker_.

I stood there, questioning the sanity of the person who sent me the package. Who could it have been? My only guess for the time being was Dr. Young, who I would have to look up tomorrow. Even if she didn't appreciate my calling upon her, at least I wouldn't be calling upon her at midnight.

I repacked the strange clothing, leaving the Skechers and watch out. I figured I could still use them while the outfit would provoke questions I didn't want to answer.

As I hid the box inside my closet, I realized how tired I felt. It had been a long day, and the MCU awaited me. My mind raced through possibilities of who could have sent the box while I prepared for bed. Dr. Young, Mr. Bleak...I wouldn't know who sent it, but it appeared harmless.

Slipping into a shirt and long pants – definitely more home-y than Arkham's scrubs – I took a moment and simply enjoyed the freedom of wearing something other than the uniformed clothing. No one really notices what freedoms they have until it's taken away from them. After having my moment to acknowledge my freedom, I threw myself on my bed with the novel _Berry Tucker_.

I flipped through it quickly, seeing two sets of handwriting in it, and I wondered if one of them was mine. They didn't look like an adult's handwriting, more childish, on the bigger side and loopy. I shrugged and read the back, seeing that the story was about a white slave in a reversed world, and Berry Tucker was a magic river. I smiled and set it aside. Interesting but weird; I'd try it when I had the free time.

Having decided that, I turned off my light and curled up underneath the covers, savoring the feel of a real mattress, fluffy pillows, and blankets for a few moments. Then, I laid there, hands behind my head, reviewing everything in my head.

It felt uncomfortable, being in the apartment, in the silence. I didn't have to listen to crying or screaming throughout the night, definitely a change I didn't completely despise. However, the silence created a low ringing in my eyes; I tried to ignore it and fell asleep in the process.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Chapter 8 is up. Enjoy!**


	9. Disobeying Orders

Someone rapped on the door, and reluctantly, I lifted my head from my arms and opened my eyes. Even through my blurry vision, I knew Nash stood in the doorway.

"Are you waiting for Bullock to catch you sleeping on the job?" he asked, his tone light and teasing.

"I'm _thinking_," I said.

"Or you're practicing osmosis."

I glanced at the files my arms and head had been resting on. "I wasn't sleeping. I just close my eyes so I don't get distracted by faces like yours."

"It _is_ quite handsome, isn't it?" Nash said.

"You're a narcissist."

He chuckled. "You got me." He checked the hallway in both directions. "You better start looking busy in case Bullock comes around."

"What do I care? I'm leaving in less than ten minutes."

Nash smiled and shook his head. "Just don't let him catch you. You've only been a detective for about a month. Don't give him an excuse to stick you back at the receptionist desk."

I waved my hand dismissively at him but sat up and picked up my pen, taking his advice seriously. I knew he was right; Bullock was out to get me, constantly on the watch for any excuse that he could use against me. Even though I had been working at the MCU for two months, I still hadn't gained an ounce of trust from him. I trusted him, but not sincerely. I trusted him to turn me in the first time I stepped out of line.

Despite Bullock, I enjoyed working at the MCU. The first three weeks had been painful, due to the fact that I was generally loaded down with paperwork that the officers were too lazy to type up or finish. Bullock took advantage of this, giving me every scrap of work he could give me once he had written his signature and then taking it back when I was finished to check if I had screwed with any of his notes. Jason defended me when Bullock started giving me notes to write-up his eyewitness account to certain crimes but only to a certain extent.

To my relief, Gordon was short on detectives, and because I had done exceptional work in the academy, he quickly promoted me to "junior" detective. I was allowed to be out in the field as long as I stuck by my "senior" partner. At first, I partnered with cops, working on the basic cases, like assault and battery, hit-and-run, and domestic disputes, but eventually, I moved up to working with a "senior" detective, being a second or third opinion on the super-criminals.

Someone shuffled inside the office, and I glanced up. "Murphy, aren't _we_ late?"

My "senior" partner, Murphy shrugged as he placed his bag down by the desk. "Had a late night," he responded.

I instantly turned sympathetic. He worked late nights often, and even though we were partners, it was generally rare that we were actually working together. I sent sarcastic thanks in Bullock's direction for that since he refused to allow me to take the night shift so that I could work alongside Murphy. "How long were you here?"

"Until five this morning."

"Ouch. So you went home, slept, and then came back here."

"Pretty much." He pushed papers from the small couch in his office – it was his office, I worked with him, but as "junior" detective, I wasn't given an office. He headed toward the door and turned inside the frame. "I'm going to get coffee. Would you like some?"

"No thanks, I'm headed home in five," I told him. "And don't worry about the newspaper. I've got you one here." I lifted it from the side of the desk as proof. He nodded wearily and left.

I leaned back in the chair, setting the newspaper on my lap and spreading it out. I had changed during my time working with the cops. Originally, I wouldn't bother reading a newspaper or drinking coffee, but I acquired the taste for it since asking for hot chocolate would require a sacrifice on my behalf.

Jason offered to make it, but I learned that he counted "favors". If he made me hot chocolate, I owed him a favor, to which he would ask me out for lunch or dinner. It didn't even take me a split _second_ to realize what he was trying to do – he wanted to win me back. After the first few times, I found that I simply wasn't interested, and luckily for me, I learned most of his tricks so as to avoid dragging my feet to his "favor-owed" dates.

Someone rapped on the door, catching my attention and causing me to look up. I heaved a silent sigh when I recognized Jason and then stood, packing my things away.

"Did I interrupt something?" he asked, flashing me a sheepish grin. "Maybe catching you in a criminal act."

"Be careful," I warned. "I'm the best ex-criminal you have on your force, so you might want to be _nice_ or I might commit a crime against you."

"And what crime would _that_ be?" he asked, curiously.

My eyes narrowed, but I smirked. "You'll see, if you keep this up."

He shrugged, grinning as he sat on the corner of Murphy's desk. Consciously, I leaned back, placing more of a distance between us. "I don't remember you working on night shift," he said, casually.

"I'm not working night shift, I'm headed home."

"Actually…you're staying here."

I flashed a glare at him. "You stopping me from going home? Don't you _dare_."

"It's not me," Jason said, holding up his hands defensively – as if they were going to protect him from my wrath. "I heard about Murphy having a hard time working with his partner when she's not allowed to work night shift with him."

"So you decided to step in and talk to Bullock on Murphy's behalf." I said it sarcastically, trying to get it across to him that I wouldn't appreciate it if he _had_ managed to convince Bullock to change my hours.

"I did, and he agreed."

"Seriously?" I demanded, shocked and angry. "You're pulling my leg."

He shook his head. "He was reluctant, but I knocked some sense into him." He mimicked punching someone, grinning like a little boy, to be funny, but my expression didn't change. "Looks like you owe me another favor."

"_Murphy_ owes you a favor," I snapped, angrily.

"You wanted the night shift. I did it for you." My eyes flashed with my otherwise invisible fury. Jason caught it and leaned over the desk, noticing the folder I left out. "Catwoman's folder?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Yes," I replied, curtly.

"Are those Murphy's notes?"

"And mine." He reached for it, and I quickly snatched it off the desk. "_You_, Lieu-_tenant_ don't get to see the evidence until it's written into an official _report_."

"Jane, take a breath and calm down," Jason said, "I was only looking."

"Curiosity _killed_ the cat."

He arched an eyebrow. "Is that a threat towards me or Catwoman?" I kept my mouth shut. Underneath my anger, my rational side knew very well that I was about to cross a line that could damage my reputation in the MCU. Two months of hard work would fly out the window, something I couldn't risk.

Jason heaved a sigh as he stood. "I'll just assume that your irritability is because you've worked all day, and you're tired."

"You think?" I replied, sarcastically. He gave me a look, silently telling me to watch what I said. He headed for the door. "When do I start working night shift?" I asked, fighting to keep the sarcasm in line.

He halted at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. After checking to make sure I wasn't pulling attitude, he said, "You start today, right now." Then he left.

Murphy returned with coffee to find me with my face in my hands. He nudged me with a cup, startling me slightly. "Sorry," he said, placing it between my hands. "I figured you could use one."

I mumbled my thanks and sipped. "So, who told you?"

"No one. I overheard Bullock telling Nash."

Swallowing, I moved to set the cup aside, but Murphy stopped me. "Go sit on the couch. Rest for a bit."

"I've had my fur rubbed the wrong way; I'm not resting." He stared me down, and I reluctantly gave in, migrating to the couch with the newspaper. When I caught him eying me and the newspaper, I said, "I'm going to look for clues."

"You won't find them in a newspaper." I rolled my eyes and started flipping through. "Besides, there must be something in her files that will point to her."

"Keep dreaming, Murphy." I sensed him throwing me a look, but I kept my eyes down, scanning the black print before me and flipping a page. "And unlike you, I've read through her files so many times that I know them forwards and backwards."

"Do you read files before you go to bed every night?"

I shrugged, flipping another page.. "It's just a bit of light reading." He chuckled as he booted up his computer. "Go ahead and think I'm crazy, but I believe I've found something." When he looked up, I turned the newspaper around, revealing the article and black-and-white picture.

"What is it?" he asked after a moment.

"Patagonian Cat's Eye Opals," I said. "They're being featured at the Johnson's Jewelry Company for only today and tomorrow. The cat burglar will definitely want these."

"What makes you say that?" Murphy asked. "I can understand that Catwoman likes jewelry, but why?"

"The answer to your question is in her name. She's a woman. Women love jewelry, and Catwoman is not an exception. If these are up for a limited time, she's going to have to make her move soon, most likely tonight."

Murphy caught the look in my eyes, and despite his weariness, he smiled. "You have potential to become a great detective."

"I just happened upon it, and besides, don't compliment me until after we've caught every super-criminal," I scolded, but deep inside, I felt a rush of pride.

"What time is it?" he asked, suddenly.

"Ten past ten."

Murphy tapped away at his keyboard for a few moments and then swore. "Johnson's closed at ten." He snatched his jacket. "Get your coat and go tell Gordon."

"What about Bullock?" I asked.

"I'll deal with him."

Unfortunately, when I arrived at the Commissioner's office, Bullock was there too. He shot me a cold stare, which I returned before launching into an explanation to Gordon about what was going on. I finished without interruption, even though I caught Gordon motioning for Bullock to keep his mouth shut several times throughout. After I had finished, then the bombardment began.

"How do you know she'll be there?" Bullock demanded.

"Don't you dare suggest that I've spoken to her because I highly doubt that she would plan for me to get her caught."

"It's too much of a coincidence, Commissioner," Bullock said, turning toward him. He glanced at me, hardly making an effort to hide his distrust. From day one, I endured this, brushing my shoulder and ignoring it. Now, as it was my first big one, it irritated me to no end. To make matters worse, Murphy wasn't here to speak on my behalf; I had to defend myself against the person who distrusted me the most.

"Bullock, I'm _very_ aware that you do not trust me, but honestly, have I ever let you or anyone down?"

He didn't give that a thought. "Other than getting the paperwork done, yes."

My hands clenched at my sides, but I forced my tone to remain calm. "What do you want done then? We have a chance to possibly catch-."

"We need guarantees, McKinley, not possibilities."

"Nothing the police does is guarantees, Bullock," I argued. "We work as hard as we can, and people send in tips. If we have a lead, whether guaranteed or not, we follow it until we either find the next lead or until we hit a deadend."

"She's got a point," Gordon said. "Do it, Bullock."

"Fine," he said, grudgingly. "However, _she_ stays here."

"Ex-_cuse_ me? Murphy _and_ I share this case."

"So we'd only need him, not you." My mouth opened as I tried to protest, but he shook his head sharply. "I don't trust you."

"You can't trust me here either," I said, glaring at him. "What am I going to do? Warn Catwoman beforehand so I could be the one to catch her?" As soon as it came out of my mouth, I realized I had stepped on the button. Red flags went up for both Bullock and Gordon, even though the Commissioner had trust in me.

"McKinley," Gordon began, and from his weary tone, I knew what was coming. "I need you here." My heart sank. "Only Murphy needs to be there, and this is a possible face-to-face encounter with the infamous cat burglar." I wanted to argue, but he wasn't done. "Next time, Bullock will have you involved more, but this time around, you have done enough and we appreciate it."

If it had only been Bullock, I would have argued until I won, but as my own words had ruined my chances – that and it was Gordon – I stepped down from the fight. I enjoyed my job as a detective, and I didn't want to get fired. I would be either sent back to the asylum or placed in Blackgate, neither of which I wanted to go.

I sulked in Murphy's office, spinning the swivel chair from side-to-side. I heard the cops while they prepared to capture the car burglar – _my_ cat burglar. In my head, I screamed at myself for saying what I did. Gordon probably would have argued for me to go along with had I kept my mouth shut. My temper had gotten the better of me.

Gordon finally arrived, after sending the cops on their way, lead by Bullock and Murphy, and he brought with him a present: a large heap of paperwork. "Here it is," he said, setting it down on the desk. "If you finish this, you can ask around for more." He straightened and remained there for longer than he had to.

Finally, I said, "Thank you," and grabbed a handful of paper, drawing it closer as I grabbed a pen.

"McKinley, I'm-."

"I don't want to talk about it, Commissioner. I'll get straight to work." I could tell he didn't want to leave, that he had something to say, but he decided against it, leaving me alone in the office. A few minutes later, someone lightly tapped on the door frame. I didn't bother to look up, or answer; I assumed the visitor would speak, which he did.

"That's unfair. You found the lead; you should be able to follow it."

"Life's unfair, Nash. Get used to it."

"But there are ways of _cheating_ life."

"Not when it comes to paperwork." I paused and then looked up. "Unless you're suggesting that I burn it all, which would only get me into even more trouble with Gordon."

"No, you don't need to burn it. I've got someone who'd be willing to do it all for you, though." I arched an eyebrow, looking unconvinced. "I'm serious. Grab it and I'll show you." I hesitated, unsure if he was telling the truth or pulling my leg. If he was suggesting Jason as my replacement, there was no way I was going to do it.

"One question. Even if you could 'cheat' me out of my work, what were you hoping to accomplish?"

"I hoped to help a friend who deserves to be out there on the field for her case." He gave me hope.

I followed him, carrying the pile of paperwork, and he brought me to a lone police officer. Nash knocked on the officer's desk, and he looked up sharply from his own papers. "Hey, comrade, how about helping me out a bit?"

The cop, who looked fairly young, merely glanced at my heap of paperwork and held out his hands for it. I hesitated and then handed it over, watching him as he wordlessly placed it on his desk. He held out a hand toward Nash, and Nash shook it. I didn't miss the transferring of cash, but I didn't say anything.

"Do you want me to drop you off?" Nash asked me when we had returned to Murphy's office so I could grab my jacket.

"If you would like," I said, leaving the offer open for him to decide.

He dropped me off several streets away, and when I argued to be dropped off closer, he said, "It's better to sneak up from far away. Keep a lookout for Murphy and Bullock." I nodded, and he drove off.

On the route to Johnson's Jewelry Company, I kept an eye out for unmarked cars and undercover cops. I nearly walked straight into one, but managed to veer away before he noticed me. I located Bullock and Murphy easily enough – I knew my partner and knew too the man who was out to get me into trouble. After finding them, I found my chosen position and remained there, hidden in the back of the jewelry company.

All there was to do was wait. Patience wasn't my strong suit for this type of work, but unfortunately, I have had to do a lot of it. No action for over an hour. I restlessly paced in my area, eyes scanning every spot in my view and ducking into the shadows every time an undercover cop walked by.

Midnight crept closer and closer at an agonizingly slow pace. My restlessness turned into stillness. I remained standing, eyes closed against a throbbing headache that had emerged half an hour ago. My patience wore thin gradually, worn away by the passing time. With it, my senses had heightened, something I discovered while waiting. My sight impaired, my hearing had sharpened so I could heard every movement around me, every whisper the undercover cops made to one another, every breath taken.

It had nothing to do with an adrenaline rush – like normal people claimed – because I wasn't feeling any. If anything, I was feeling tired of the wait, and of course, tired from working all day and through night shift. It didn't surprise me that I wasn't given any time in between shifts. It was very like Bullock to test me, to stretch me until he caused me to snap. I had tomorrow off, but that didn't mean much, particularly right now when Bullock was taking _my case_.

My mouth twitched. Resentment toward the man who hated me. Having that feeling didn't surprise me either.

The scrap of heels and click of sharp metal on the roof broke me out of my thoughts. Opening my eyes and looking up, I caught sight of a slender black form leaping onto the jewelry store roof. The form remained on the edge, standing up before moving forward and out of my sight. This time, a slight smile curved over my lips; Catwoman was feeling right at home, something I could use to my advantage.

Faced with needing a way up to the roof to follow directly behind Catwoman, I looked and found I was supplied by only two walls from the jewelry store and the shop next door.

This is where my self-training and Skechers came in handy. Shoes with good traction, strong legs, and speed. Starting from one end of a wall, I broke into a run, sharply turning and jumping onto the first wall. I pushed off the moment I hit the first one, spinning to meet the second wall. Contacting for the second and pushing off again, catching myself in multiple wall-jumps, bouncing back and forth, climbing the walls.

But you lose momentum as you jump off one wall to the next. I pushed off the last time, leaping for the jewelry store's roof, but I had lost too much momentum. My hands gripped the edge, and my feet connected with the wall in a cat crouch. Before I lost my grip, I pushed off and up, throwing myself over the edge of the roof and landing neatly in a low crouch.

I couldn't help myself; I heaved a sigh of relief. Even though I felt like I had done that in the past, it simply amazed me that I managed it on the first try. And I didn't really _think_ about what I was doing, just knew I could do it.

I shook my head, pushing my thoughts away, and pushed off, running for the skylight. As I located the missing glass piece, I wondered why most places like jewelry stores and museums had skylights. Didn't they realize that some good criminals would actually use them to break _in_? Must've never crossed their minds, until they find shattered glass and missing precious possessions.

The jewelry store was relatively large, with a setup like an atrium – two levels but a square hole in the second floor to see down to the bottom. And how _smart_ of Johnson's Jewelry Company to put their new feature in the _center_ of the first floor! Catwoman was busy looking at the Patagonian Cat's Eye Opals as I jumped down onto the second floor, crouching and peeking over the railing.

Murphy, followed by four cops, burst into the store, breaking through the front door. Catwoman jumped, alerted by the shattering of glass. Giving the glass case before her a good hit, she smashed the glass covering and snatched the Patagonian Cat's Eye Opals, shoving them in her bag.

"Freeze, Catwoman," Murphy ordered, joining the rank of cops training their guns on the criminal. Catwoman turned slowly, and I think she hissed as she lowered herself into a crouch, holding one hand out in front of her, baring curved claws.

I hid behind the railing, reaching into my pockets and pulling out the pair of leather gloves I had retrieved in the mystery box sent to my apartment two months ago. As I pulled them on, I heard the crack of a whip and cries of pain. I was missing the action, but I didn't look for fear of being seen.

I winced as I heard a gunshot, a loud grunt, and the clatter of said gun on the floor. I had to think of a way of getting down there without Murphy or the cops recognizing me. I should have thought of something before this, but now that I was faced with it, I realized I had no idea what to do. Only way of getting around this was to wait, unfortunately.

I waited, keeping an eye on my watch, watching the seconds tick by. Just listening to the grunts and cries of pain, I could imagine, in detail, what was going on down there. The crack of a whip, a last whimper, and then quiet.

"Poor little boys," Catwoman mocked, sympathetically. "_Almost_ had a chance." I took the chance, peeking over the railing to see the current situation. Only a minute and she had all four cops down, groaning on the floor. Seemed unbelievable, something maybe _Batman_ alone could pull off.

"You won't get away," Murphy grunted, trying to push himself off the ground.

Catwoman swiftly kicked him in the chest. "Well, too bad," she snapped, "None of your boys could handle me."

I stood and vaulted over the railing, landing heavily on the first floor. Hearing me, Catwoman turned her head. "You think you're too much for a man, Kitten," I said. "You sound so _confident_."

"Well, well, if it isn't _Shadow_, out of Arkham," Catwoman sneered. "Come to these boys' aid?"

"Just came here for you," I replied, smirking.

"Is that so? Working for _them_ now?"

"What does it matter? You're not getting away with your loot."

Catwoman stared at me for a few moments before shrugging. "I didn't really want them anyway," she said. Then she threw her bag at me. My attention was momentarily distracted by the bag as I instinctively moved to catch it.

Catwoman ran toward me, jumping into the air and kicking me in the chest. The impact sent me flying into a jewelry case, knocking it over and breaking the glass, littering the floor with jewels. Wincing, I started to push myself off the floor. There was a crack, and something painful snapped against my right arm. I collapsed onto the ground, grasping my forearm, when Catwoman leaped on me, trapping me.

My head throbbed painfully, and I clenched my teeth, trying to focus beyond the pain. Curling my legs in between us, I heaved, kicking Catwoman off me and then kicked again, using my momentum to jump to my feet.

Catwoman recovered and stood glaring at me, cracking her whip off to the side. I raised my hands slightly, ready to defend if I had to. She snapped her whip a few times and then suddenly cracked it in my direction.

Without thinking, I lifted my right hand, my eyes on the whip as it arched through the air. Miraculously, I caught the end, much to Catwoman's surprise. Taking advantage, I yanked on the whip, catching her off guard. As she stumbled toward me, I jumped and thrust out a leg, catching her in the chest, just like she had gotten me the first time.

She lost her grip on her whip and fell to the ground. Instantly, I held her down and tied her whip around her wrists and her neck, not tight enough to choke her. Holding the handle in one hand, I finally took out my gun and held it at her forehead.

"You're under arrest, Catwoman," I said, "Or should I say" – gripped the bottom of her mask and pulled it off, revealing her true identity – "Selina Kyle."

"Selina Kyle?" I looked up to see that a few of the cops were still conscious, climbing to their feet slowly. They stared in disbelief. "The woman dating Bruce Wayne?"

Catwoman struggled underneath me, but I only tightened the whip around her neck a bit. "Okay, boys, stop gawking," I ordered. "Start _moving_." Two of them headed in my direction, but I shook my head. "Murphy and I can handle her."

Murphy approached as I pulled Catwoman to her feet, snapping handcuffs on her wrists and removing the whip from around her hands. "What are you _doing_ here, McKinley?" Murphy demanded in a whisper. "You're not supposed to be here."

"I couldn't miss out on _our_ case," I said.

"You better get out of here before Bull-."

"McKinley?" Murphy and I turned our heads in unison, spotting Bullock as he walked in with three more cops. After a moment, a smug smirk stretched across his face. My heart sank at the sight. "Well, well, well, aren't we in trouble now."

* * *

**Lordlink13: And there is chapter nine for those of you who wanted more.**


	10. Damnit, Hawkins

The hot water, mixed with shampoo, cascaded down his sore body as he rinsed his short hair, rubbing his hands through it. He turned back, breathing in the steam that helped to clear his sinuses. It had been a long day, and because of that his body and mind were exhausted. Under the constant rush of water, his muscles relaxed, and he allowed his mind to wander.

The peace ended abruptly as the bathroom door slammed open. "All _right_-y, Bleak, Mistah J's asking for yah!" a high-pitched female voice shrieked.

"What the Hell, woman!" he shouted back. "I'm taking a shower!"

"Yeah? So? You gonna use that excuse when you face Mistah J because you are _late_?"

"Get out." A petite hand reached in around the curtain toward the nozzle. Fury raced through him at the sight, and he snapped his hand down on the small wrist.

"Hey!" the woman protested, and she ripped open the shower curtain. He stood there, his eyes blazing as he glared at the woman.

"I told you to get out, Harleen," he said, his tone hard.

Harleen Quinzel squinted at him. "Mistah J asked for you to pick him up."

"Don't make me repeat myself. _Get_. _Out_."

She pursed her lips. "Fine. Hurry up." She moved her arm, and he released her. He waited until she had closed the bathroom door behind her before he shut off the water. She had broken the calming spell of the shower, and knowing she was in his apartment, he couldn't relax.

He stepped out and proceeded to dry himself off, dressing in a t-shirt and jeans. Glancing into the mirror as he passed it, he noticed how scraggly he looked since he was _interrupted_ before he had the chance to shave. "Thanks, Harleen. You suck, get a damn license and drive him yourself."

"I have one!" she yelled back. "I don't have a car!"

"Well, get one!" He took a moment and peered at his reflection a bit closer. The bags under his eyes showed darker than they probably had ever been. He sighed, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and left the bathroom to find Harleen sitting on his couch. He raised an eyebrow at her dressed in black dress and a white doctor's coat, customarily wore at Arkham by the head psychiatrists – which she used to be before she grew too _close_ to her favorite patient. "Come on," he said, grabbing his jacket and keys on his way out.

Dean Ledger ignored Harleen on the way to the car and most of the drive, except when she, in her shrilly voice, shriek directions. Otherwise, he focused on driving, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, constantly brushing his bangs out of his eyes. He had been debating whether or not to get it cut, but he thought he would ask someone before he did. He had someone particular in mind and thinking about her made him smile.

"Why are yah smiling?" Harleen demanded suddenly, breaking through his thoughts. He heaved an exasperated sigh. "Do you think it's _funny_ that Mistah J's not escaping on time?"

"If you _knew_ him, you'd understand that 'Mistah J' is _never_ on a normal timetable."

She glared. "He's going to punish you."

"What you say he's going to do and what he _actually_ does are two different things."

"I've been his psychiatrist. I know him better than he knows himself. I'm in charge of him."

Dean chuckled, to which she demanded to know what was so funny. "_No one's_ in charge of the Joker. He's _the Joker_. He's his own boss."

"So says you, one of his lowly henchmen."

"Lowly?" Dean thought for a moment, and then glanced at her, grinning. "I know you are, but what am I?"

"I just said. A lowly henchman."

"I know you are, but what am I?" She pursed her lips for the second time. "Keep doing that. It's only a matter of time that you pull a muscle."

"I'm gonna tell Mistah J about this, and he'll punish you double."

Dean grinned. "All right, have fun, tell him all you like. We'll see who gets punished." In his perphial vision, he saw Harleen stick out her tongue, like a small child. He shook his head and turned down Tower Road. He blinked against the flashing blue and red lights, coming from several cop cars blocking the street.

"Great," he murmured.

"Oh no, oh no," Harleen said quickly, repeating it over and over again.

"Harleen, shut up and calm down," Dean ordered, shutting her up instantly with his tone. "It could be a car wreck or something."

"Or they _know_ what we're doing."

"Chill out." Dean rolled his eyes, brushing his black hair back. He pulled up along the sidewalk and parked, stepping out of the car.

"Where are you going?" Harleen demanded, her eyes wide with panic.

"Just asking what's going on." He slammed the door shut and walked over to the nearest cop.

"You can't drive down this way, sir," the cop said as Dean approached.

"I was only wondering how far down this road the blockage is."

"Sir, where are you going? We may be able to help you find an alternative route." Dean named off a place down the street, and the cop proceeded to give him directions. He only half-listened, taking quick glances around to find out the reason why the cops were there. It surprised him to spot a woman he recognized, arguing with a somewhat chubby cop. "You got all that?" the cop asked, drawing Dean's attention back.

"Yes, thank you for your help, officer," he said. "Have a good night." The officer nodded, and Dean turned away, heading back toward the car.

"What did you do? Did you tell them? Oh, you had _better_ not have told them!"

"_Relax_," Dean said, shutting her up. He turned around and drove an alternative route, not the one that the officer gave him. Thankfully, Harleen kept her mouth shut as he drove. He wouldn't have heard her regardless; his mind wandered, but in a few seconds, it focused on the person he recognized.

"Right here," Harleen said, pointing off to the side. Dean sighed, parking along the back alley entrance. He drummed his thumb on the wheel as Harleen stepped out, leaning against the car in wait for the Joker. Dean rolled his eyes, content with being free from her for how long the wait would be.

Unfortunately, the wait wasn't long enough. The minor bit of peace Dean enjoyed shattered when a purple-clad figure stepped out and sauntered toward the vehicle.

"Mista J," Harleen shrilled, "I missed yah." She jumped toward him, but he held out an arm, keeping her at a distance. She persisted all the way to the car. Dean resisted the strong urge to laugh, or even to smile. The urge vanished when he heard a good _smack_, and Harleen stepped away from the Joker, a hand covering her cheek, whimpering.

"Shut up, Harley," he growled. "I don't care, you're late."

"But it's _his_ fault!" she protested.

"Still don't care." He opened the passenger door and climbed in quickly, slamming it to drive home that he didn't want to deal with her. "Drive, Bleak," he ordered, as Harley stepped into the backseat. She moved quicker when she overheard him so when Dean pulled into the street, she was already in.

"Go around to the front."

"What?" Harleen shrieked.

"_Shut up_, Harley," the Joker said, "Wasn't talking to you. Bleak, around the front."

"May I ask why?" Dean asked.

"I forgot someone." Turning his head slightly, the Joker added, "A woman." Harleen made a sound in the backseat, and once again, the Joker told her to be quiet. Dean shook his head and drove around to the front of the building. A woman dressed completely in black approached the car as Dean pulled up, and as soon as she climbed into the backseat, he continued driving.

"Now that I get another favor," the woman said, unaware that Harleen sat in the back with her.

"Of _course_, Raven," the Joker said. "You have yet to use the other three."

"Are you in debt?" Dean asked, unable to stop himself from smirking. The Joker placed his hand behind Dean's head, and something clicked close to his ear. "Got it, boss," he said.

"Dr. Quinzel?" Dean glanced at the rearview mirror, seeing Raven staring intently at the other woman in the backseat. "Joker, you are _not_ seriously getting involved with her."

The Joker didn't respond. Dean took a quick look to see him curling his hand into a fist, tapping his knuckles against the window.

"Harleen, what do you have to say for yourself?" Raven said, like she was speaking to a child who had done something bad.

"You're not my mother," Harleen replied, stiffly.

"You were a respectable doctor before you fell to his level."

"That was low," Dean murmured, inaudible to either of the women, but he felt the bite of the Joker's blade underneath his ear.

"The only reason I'm not considered 'respectable' is because everyone else couldn't get underneath the thick layers that Mistah J created to protect the vulnerable him deep inside." Dean tried not to clear his throat too loudly.

"There _is_ no 'vulnerable'-."

"Yes, there is. You, like all the others, couldn't treat him like the human being that he is." Harleen smiled sweetly at Raven. "Unlike you, I could do what needed to be done for him." She reached forward to place her hands possessively on the Joker's shoulders. He purposely leaned forward, as if sensing what she was doing, and pretended he needed something from the glove compartment.

"And you willingly fell for him, giving up your opportunity." Raven shook her head. "You're _wasted_."

"Watch what you say, Teresa," Harleen said. Then, a smirk curled over her lips. "Or should I say _Raven_, Scarecrow's _squeeze_?"

"Ex-_cuse_ me?"

"I know all about you and him." Harleen flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Believe me. I can get what I want, information and more, out of Mistah J, when I want it."

Dean scoffed. "More like he gives you what he _thinks_ you need when _he_ wants to give it." Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the Joker grinning slightly at his comment.

However, the Joker turned his head, catching him looking. He gave Dean a quick rap at the back of his head. "You know where Raven lives," he whispered while the two women continued to speak angrily in the backseat.

"Are you implying I'm a stalker or something?" Dean asked, following the Joker's example and whispering back.

The Joker flashed him a menacing grin. "What would-dah make you think that? Tell me, what's new in Gotham?"

Dean arched an eyebrow but didn't turn to show it. "A new detective caught the cat burglar."

"When?"

"A short while ago."

"Word travels fast, or you have ears everywhere."

"No, I had to drive around the damn crime scene. The news was hard to miss"

The Joker shook his head. "Ruin the moment that temporarily places you in the spotlight, Bleak."

"What spotlight?" Harleen asked all of a sudden.

"Nothing, Harley," the Joker said quickly. He stared at Dean intently until he turned his attention to him. "By the way, don't call her by her name. She's Harley Quinn now."

"Nice," Dean commented, "A play on Harleen Quinzel, making her a harlequin." He turned his attention back to the road. "Nice play on words, boss."

The Joker's blade tapped against his ear before he withdrew it. Dean checked the rearview mirror, seeing Raven glaring out the window and Harleen – _Harley_ – shifting restlessly. He noticed Harley's hands kept moving toward the Joker's seat, but withdrawing quickly. Looking forward, Dean allowed himself an amused smile.

* * *

"You disobeyed orders."

"Yes, sir, but-."

"You. Dis-_obeyed_. Orders." I shut my mouth and exhaled slowly, my eyes fixed on the Commissioner. His face was tight, his eyes unwavering. "Of all people who work under me, I expected more from you."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry doesn't change the fact that you disobeyed my orders and handed the paperwork I assigned you over to Officer Kent. What do you have to say for yourself?" I said nothing, my eyes still on his, but I rubbed my knuckles nervously, waiting.

Realizing I didn't plan to speak, Gordon sighed, pulled off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes taken away from mine, I watched my hands as I wringed them, wishing I wasn't here, wishing I could go. But Gordon wasn't finished with me.

"McKinley," he said, wearily, and I looked up. He sat down in his chair, pressing his palms into his eyes for a moment before catching my eyes again. "You are an exceptional detective, one of few I can trust-."

"With all due respect, Commissioner, I'm the last you should trust," I interrupted. He arched a gray eyebrow, and I leaned back in my chair, biting my lip.

"Your work effort has been excellent, and you've always followed orders without argument. You're focused, sharp and take note of the details. You, as a detective, have done very well during your time here." I smiled slightly, but it faded when Gordon began shaking his head. "However, since you've become Murphy's partner, you've changed."

"For better, or worse?" I asked, unable to keep quiet.

"Mostly, for the better. You are still keen as ever, but you've begun revealing some part of your personality that I have the feeling you've been hiding for most of your time here. You have quite a temper."

"Which I apologize for, Commissioner," I said. I waited, expecting him to continue speaking, but he lifted his head slightly, waiting for me to continue instead. "It isn't my place to argue, but now that I'm a detective, my opinion, I would think, matters as much as anyone else's here. I agree that my temper tends to get the better of me, and it's been getting me into trouble of late."

"Yes, it has," he agreed, "But, that doesn't mean you should always allow it to do that. I understand that you've been seeing a psychiatrist."

"Not an official one." His eyebrow rose again. "She's a friend," I explained. "She offered for me to come talk to her, should I need to."

"Well, at least you're talking to someone, although I'd feel more comfortable with you speaking to the department's psychiatrist."

"I have a hard time trusting a stranger. It took me time to get used to mine."

Gordon sighed and leaned forward slightly. "You understand that I do not appreciate you having disregarded my orders."

"Yes," I said, honestly.

"Good, because when you come back, you'll be working with the paperwork again." I resisted the urge to groan in despair. "It should teach you a lesson."

"No doubt about that," I mumbled. Before he could ask if I wished to repeat myself, I asked, "When you say 'come back', you mean tomorrow?"

"You still have today off. I expect you here, in my office, tomorrow night. You'll be remaining on night shift, doing paperwork."

"Until when?"

"Until you've learned your lesson."

I sighed as I left the Commissioner's office, attempting to access how I was feeling. It proved difficult to do when I nearly walked straight into Bullock. I looked up at him, seeing his smug smirk on his face.

"So," he began, "You leaving?"

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" I sneered, grudgingly. I tried to walk around him, but he moved over, blocking my way.

"I suppose Gordon put into consideration the fact you caught the cat burglar," he said, bitterly.

"Maybe, but he _is_ punishing me. I'm not getting any special treatment." I stepped to the right, and Bullock moved with me.

"How is he punishing you? Making you do more paperwork? As if that's _not_ special treatment."

I glared at him. "What, by your definition, would be considered punishment?"

"Taking you off the force and sending you back to where you came from."

"Again, you would like that, wouldn't you?"

His eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me?"

"Threatening? No, that's not a threat. It's called being hostile, to which you _started_ it. Now, get out of my way." I stepped to the side again, but he followed me. "Bullock, if you don't get out of my way-."

"Continue and you _are_ threatening me." I inhaled sharply, to which he smirked.

"Bullock, allow her to pass." I exhaled with exasperation at the sound of Jason's voice. "She needs to get home."

Bullock huffed and stepped aside for me to walk past him. Once he had moved, I hurriedly walked by and veered around Jason who almost blocked me the same way Bullock had. "Might want to go after her before she hurts someone," I heard Bullock tell Jason, and I clenched my hands tightly, forcing myself to focus on getting to Murphy's office.

I almost reached the door when Jason caught my arm.

"Hey, congrats, McKinley," he said.

"Thanks," I replied curtly, refusing to meet his eyes.

He gently tugged on my arm and then released me. Instantly realizing he wanted me to look at him, I took the chance and slipped into Murphy's office. He wasn't there, much to my relief, so I grabbed my jacket. Turning, I stopped, finding Jason blocking the door.

"Sorry about Bullock," he said. I rolled my eyes; he thought I was irritated because Bullock hadn't allowed me by. "Are you joining the party?" he asked, trying to be cool, casual.

"No." I didn't know there was a party, but I certainly didn't want to go. I tried to shove my way past him, but he didn't move. I raised my eyes and coldly said, "Get out of the way, Hawkins."

"What's gotten into you? You should be happy, like the rest of the force. They're all excited that someone managed to capture a super-criminal."

"Oh, sure, celebrate the arrest of one out of, how many?" I replied, sarcastically.

"There's nothing against the force celebrating after one."

"I'm sure you mean there's no _point_."

"Seriously, Jane, what's _wrong_ with you?" Jason demanded, losing his patience. "Is it your punishment for disobeying orders? Gordon knows you're worth having; he knows you have the skills and talent for being a detective. He'll give you a slap on the wrist."

"More like a slap of paperwork."

"That's still better than getting kicked off the force." I scoffed. "Tell me, Jane. Is it because of Bullock being a jerk, because that's normal and I can handle it for you."

"No," I snapped, "I don't want you to handle Bullock. You 'handling' Bullock is only _one_ factor."

"One factor?"

I threw my hands up with exasperation. "You are so _clueless_. I can take care of myself. I don't need you, or anyone else, stepping up and _defending_ me. I caught a super-criminal _singlehanded_."

"Whoa, Jane, calm down."

"Screw calming down!" I screamed, suddenly losing what very little control I had. "Get _out_ of my _way_!"

Without a word, he obeyed, and I still shoved past him, hoping to drive home the message that I didn't want anything to do with him.

"You haven't grown up at all, have you?"

I stopped and slowly turned to face him. "Excuse me?"

Jason lifted his chin, trying to look superior. "You heard me. You're doing the same thing as last time. Getting angry and blaming everything on me."

"You deserved it now," I told him, heatedly. "And you probably deserved it then."

He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it. I threw him a smirk and then turned on my heel, disappearing around the corner.

As I hurried toward the back exit, I could hear the party that Jason mentioned in process. Even if I had been in the mood, I still wouldn't have gone. The noise, which could be heard outside, would have set me on edge, if I wasn't already. I didn't want company so walking home alone in the light drizzling rain wouldn't bother me.

I shoved my hands in my pockets after turning up my collar against the wind. It annoyed me to no end that Jason jumped at every opportunity that he could to retrieve a "favor" from me. I knew how to stand my own ground against men like Bullock; there was _no_ way I would _enslave_ myself to that prick Hawkins.

Merely thinking about him infuriated me, causing me to quicken my pace, taking no notice of my surroundings. I didn't even see the woman until I had bumped into her. She stumbled and dropped her coffee, spilling it all over the ground. She managed to jump out of the way, avoiding getting it all over her, but I didn't react as fast and got some of the hot liquid on my pant leg.

"Watch where you're going," the woman snapped angrily.

Hissing in pain, I retorted, "Don't get in my way then."

"Excuse me? I was standing here, and you bumped into _me_."

"Don't stand there."

The woman glared at me. "You're a bitch."

"You know what," I said, grabbing my wallet. "Here, buy yourself another one." I slapped a ten into her hand and then started away. "And you can _keep_ the bitch's change." I hurried away and flew around the corner before she could respond to that.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Well, Hawkins sure is being a pain in everyone's ass. Chapter ten is up. Feel free to review.**


	11. Vendetta

_Surrounded by darkness, blocking vision, so thick, could feel the darkness. Move a hand, see it through that thick cloud of blackness. Pressure behind the eyes, pain in the chest, something around the ankle. A sense of vertigo as gravity changed; up was down. In the darkness, gently swinging, lifeless, alone. Sharp jabs of pain bursting from center, a whimper escaping from trembling lips._

_A sound in the distance. Twisting to locate the noise, no difference in surrounding dark cloud. Echoes of the sound, ricocheting through darkness. Heart pounding rapidly, resulting in more agony. A strangled cry, pleading for help. Choking, throat constricting, body shutting down. Eyes closed. Slowly dying…_

_Pressure on numb lips, air rushing into mouth, down throat, filling lungs. Burning agony smearing through lungs. Pressure moved away. Gasping for air, struggling. Warm hands upon face, pressure returns, more air blowing into lungs. Lungs expanding against agony._

_Open eyes, see a blur of three colors. Squinting, trying to focus. Slowly, color blur comes into focus, forming a face. A white face. Huge panda black eyes. A wide red mouth. Recognition for a split second, then the face was gone, alone again._

_Something snapped. Plunging into the darkness. Stomach lurching violently. Paralyzed by fear. Chest pain bursting. Unable to scream. Falling endlessly…_

A sudden lurch and I jolted awake, heaving for air. Rubbing my face with my hands, my eyes darted about the room, ensuring I had woken in my apartment and in my bed. My ears rung painfully, and I heard no other sound. I glanced at my alarm clock and saw the blinking light. Curious, I slid closer and picked up the clock, bringing it close to my ear. Only then did I actually hear its blaring outside the constant ringing.

I tried to ignore the ringing as I proceeded to get myself ready. I didn't have work, but I had an appointment – one that originally I would have had to leave work early to get to. In the end, I silently, but grudgingly, thanked Bullock for changing my work shift so I didn't have to miss time.

The ringing had faded some by the time I locked my apartment door behind me. I had spent a great deal of time trying to clean out my ears because I thought that was what was causing the ringing. It only stopped when I reached the door that lead to my appointment.

After a few knocks, Dr. Young opened the door, and she smiled brightly upon seeing it was me. "Jane, you're early," she said, motioning me inside.

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"No, not at all. Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, please." While she brewed it, I wandered into her living room, browsing through the books on her shelves.

"Have you heard the news recently?" Dr. Young called from the kitchen.

"No. What stories do they have?"

"Very early this morning, the police caught Catwoman in the middle of a burglary. I thought that was your shared case."

"It _was_."

Dr. Young came out of the kitchen, holding two cups of hot coffee. "Do I sense resentment?"

"You can't expect me _not_ to be angry over the fact that my case was taken from me." I took her offered cup and said, "Let me guess, my name wasn't mentioned."

"Not even for any credit. Where you even there?" she asked as she sat down in her lounge chair. She motioned for me to sit on the couch, but I remained standing.

"Of course I was there." I sipped the hot liquid, recoiling slightly as it burned the tip of my tongue. She reached an eyebrow as if telling me _It's hot_.

"Please, make yourself comfortable, Jane."

I shifted my weight, debating whether or not to say no. When she continued to stare at me, as if _waiting_ for me to respond or react, I finally gave in and sat down. With the irritation of last night returning to me, I struggled to contain my anger and willingness to fight.

"So, you are angry because you were given no credit."

"No," I said, simply.

Dr. Young leaned forward, setting her cup on the coffee table. I steeled myself against her piercing eyes; since Arkham, I had learned to protect my vulnerable side from her. I had a life now, working as a detective, and I no longer lived in the asylum, losing my mind because of boredom and depression. With each of our visits, I noticed I had more to talk about besides myself, and gradually, I hid myself and finally talked about something else.

"Jane, I can tell that you are angry. If it's not because you weren't given credit, then why?"

I sipped my coffee and then cradled the cup in my hands. "It was my first _big_ case. I wasn't going to be involved with the arrest."

"Yet you said you were." I nodded. "How does that work?"

"I…don't want to talk about it."

"You weren't supposed to be there, were you?"

"I didn't think we started the session yet."

"Technically, we're not even supposed to be having any of these sessions."

"You offered, and I offered to pay you for those services."

"True." She sipped her coffee for a few moments, thinking. "Jane, please, if you want me to help, you must open up."

"I don't want to talk about the case. Technically, I'm not supposed to."

"Your involvement-."

"Not now."

She nodded, understandingly. "Then may I ask a few questions of you?"

"Do I _have_ to answer?"

"If you want my help, yes." I sighed and then motioned for her to proceed. "Have you been sleeping any better since the last time we talked?"

I bit my lip. "No."

"Still having nightmares when you _do_ manage to fall asleep?"

"Constantly."

"Have you remembered anything more about your past?"

"Nothing beyond what I already know."

Dr. Young rubbed her chin in thought. "Do you see any of your past within your nightmares?"

"Some."

"Such as?"

"The usual."

"Jane, I need you to give me detailed describitions. You're not on trial where 'yes' and 'no' happen to be the best responses. Please, give me an example or two."

I sighed, sipping my drink slowly. "The basics. People. Emotions."

"What kind of emotions?"

I hesitated, reaching the limit. I never liked the idea of a psychiatrist, someone who would pick your brain until they knew exactly how you worked. I hated how callous they generally were, like the late Dr. Keaton. Sometimes I wondered why I decided to start talking to Dr. Young, even though she was no longer my psychiatrist. At least, out here in the _real_ world, I had the right to walk out, until like my time in Arkham.

Dr. Young arched an eyebrow, waiting for me to respond. I decided not to and simply sipped away at my coffee. "Jane, you do this at every visit. Why do you need to reach your limit of patience?"

"Everyone has a certain amount of patience," I said. "Mine happens to be smaller."

"It seems like it's only a small amount when you're near me." She straightened in her lounge chair, her eyes fixed on me. "Why is that? Have I offended you in any way?"

"No," I said quickly.

"I must have."

"No, you haven't."

"Is it because I keep bringing up the fact that you need a _real_ professional to speak to?" I lowered my eyes, rubbing the back of my neck. "It is amazing how you managed to pass the police psychiatrist's test," she remarked, casually. "As I have told you before, I only offer my help on a friend level; I didn't offer to be your psychiatrist. If you were still within the asylum, things would be different, but you are outside my workplace."

"I offered to pay you, and that offer still stands," I pointed out.

She shook her head. "And my answer still stands. I am not a self-employed psychiatrist, nor do I have the license to work from home. If you seriously need one – and from what I've seen, you do – I can help you find one who will respect you and be able to help in the best way that they-."

"Don't bother."

She heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I am your friend."

"And you're a good friend." I said it without any trace of sarcasm, yet now, my anger focused on the woman sitting across from me.

"I appreciate that," she said. I narrowed my eyes slightly, sensing condescension in her statement. "Being angry isn't going to help you."

"Well, neither are you." I stood up after setting my coffee down and headed toward the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Leaving," I replied, slipping on my shoes. "I'm just an unwanted burden for such a highly professional psychiatrist like you."

"Oh, Jane, that's not what I meant." She placed her coffee down and stood up, as if to join me.

"That's what you're saying." I walked over to the door, retrieving my jacket. "I'll stop bothering you."

"Jane, wait."

Ignoring her, I walked out, leaving her apartment far behind me. In the back of my mind, I knew I shouldn't have lost my temper so easily. I knew Dr. Young was right, and that I couldn't force her to help me while I wasn't at Arkham. My problem was that I didn't trust anyone else as much as I had with her during my time in the asylum. I didn't enjoy her bringing that horrid place up, but she had to, to get the point across.

With the anger still burning, I returned home to grab my workout bag and then popped over at the gym. Dr. Young called several times over the next two hours, but I couldn't answer it, nor would I have dared to bother. I didn't want to talk to her anymore.

Unfortunately, I couldn't hide in the gym forever so I returned home, long enough to shower before wandering about Gotham City. My mind wandered elsewhere, constantly moving; if Jason had called and asked where I had been all day, I wouldn't have been able to tell him the truth. He would have received white lies, due to the fact that I, after five minutes, couldn't remember where I just was or what I ate or what I thought.

Night had descended on the city when I finally surfaced from whatever my deep thoughts had been. I raised my gaze and stopped in my tracks. During my mindless walk, the city I usually walked had disappeared and turned into a darker part. Poverty was evident. Immediately, seeing more people around, mostly dressed in whatever they could find, set me on edge. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I became aware that I had stepped into a dangerous area.

The stares I received scared me, but I didn't allow my fear to take over. I walked confidently, trying to look as though I owned this part of the city. I knew I was no longer in my element – at least on the surface – but the men and women who wandered warily down the streets didn't need to know that.

I kept moving, doing my best to avoid back alleys. I didn't want to end up finding a deadend and then being attacked, or worse. I walked by a few nightclubs, purposefully moving to the other side of the road so I had distance from the drunks who catcalled every woman who passed by. Even unnerved, I couldn't resist rolling my eyes, feeling like the catcalls were something I had dealt with before.

I turned down a side street and realized too late that it was a deadend. I spun around, expecting to see someone. It surprised me when I spotted no one. For the past few minutes, I had known that someone had been following me; I hadn't seen anyone, but I _felt_ it.

Suddenly, something shifted behind me, and I spun again, hands up, ready to defend myself. However, it turned out only to be a dog scrambling out of some garbage bags. It stopped and looked at me, as if just realizing I was standing there. I heard it sniffing the air, like it was trying to sense whether or not I was a threat. I narrowed my eyes slightly, looking closer at the dog, realizing it was a Rottweiler.

The Rottweiler's ears perked up, and it barked. Taking that as a warning, I started to back away. I thought it was planning to lunge and attack me, but surprisingly, it slowly padded forward, two steps forward for each of my steps back.

A low growl emanated from its throat as I continued to move away, and a thought struck me. I stopped where I was and watched as the dog continued to pad forward. The Rottweiler reached me, sniffing my pants and shoes. It backed away, looking up at me, as if expecting something to happen.

Then, strangely, a word, or a name, popped into my head. "Scout?"

The Rottweiler went berserk, suddenly jumping at me and barking loudly. It scared me, having this huge dog leaping for my face, but I didn't run. Instead, I held up an arm horizontally, and the dog stood up on its hind legs, placing its front paws on my arm. Its tongue rolled out, and it whined, nuzzling my arm with its wet nose.

I watched this, slightly grossed out as the dog began licking my arm, but I didn't pull away, still recovering from the fact it wasn't attacking me but acting as though it knew me. _As though the dog knew me…_

"Hey! Get away from my baby!"

I jumped, startled, and the Rottweiler fell to its paws. A thin figure fell from the fire escape and bounded toward me. The dog stepped in front of me, protectively, but I subconsciously pushed it off to the side.

The figure that approached huffed irritably. "You don't go touching other people's babies." She, it was definitely female, had an obnoxiously high-pitched voice.

"Whatever, bitch, I wasn't _touching _your baby," I snapped, put off by her trying to socialize, even though she too was irritated. "Besides, that's a _dog_, not a baby."

"Baby, get over here," she ordered the dog. It didn't bother to move toward her. She glared at me, as if blaming me. I returned the favor, but at the same time, taking a closer look.

The woman had a petite and rather busty figure, revealed by the skin-tight costume. In the very dim light, it appeared black and red, with each leg and arm wearing the opposite color. After a moment, I realized it was a jester outfit, complete with the headwear. She wore black eyeshadow to the extreme, looking like she had large panda eyes in her very white face.

"Wait…" She squinted, leaning forward as if to see me back. I arched an eyebrow and self-consciously leaned back. "Nah…" She started shaking her head. "It can't be. Not here. Not _now_." She huffed angrily.

"What's _your_ problem?" I asked.

She placed her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. "You don't recognize me, do you, Ms. McKinley?" Her voice had changed, sounding less high-pitched and more…_professional_. It sounded familiar. "Need I jolt your memory? I asked your doctor for a favor once."

"Dr. Quinzel." I said it because I remembered, not because she gave it away. "Dressed up like a jester, like a clown. Hm, is your theme a harlequin?" I rubbed my chin, mockingly. "Add a bit of a joker twist on your name. Harleen Quinzel becomes Harley Quinn?"

She pouted, huffing and flaring her nostrils. She looked like a little kid having a tantrum, even stomping her foot and completing the mental image. She huffed and puffed, like the big bad wolf – more like the petite busty blonde – and then abruptly burst into action.

I found myself raising my arms to block punches, kicks, and smacks. She grunted with each hit, growling here and there. I kept quiet, ducking a few strikes and knocking even more harmlessly to the side. For a short time, she couldn't land a hit on me, but she managed one, a kick to the head.

It knocked me off balance. One kick to the head, and my defense fell, allowing Harley to land many hits. I started backing away, but in her frenzy, she kept pace with me, slipping through my minor defenses. My head rung painfully, throbbing with every blow I received. I tried to focus and clear my vision, but the blow had added haziness to the edges of my eyesight.

Blow after blow hit me. It made my blood boil. I clenched my teeth at a particularly painful hit to my jaw. She wasn't going to stop, throwing all she had, like she had some vendetta against me. Whether that was it or not, I didn't deserve the beating she was giving me.

My anger from the day and the night before resurfaced, only enhanced by the undeserving beating. Fury racing through my veins like adrenaline, I stepped into the circle of blows, smacking away Harley's fists before I responded with my own.

I lost control, beating the one who had held the vendetta. Unlike her, my blows struck her solidly, even with her attempt at defending herself. She had agility and could dodge my fists, but she had no escape from my circle of fury.

I heard her cries of pain, yet I still kept hitting her, punching her down and kicking her when she tried to climb back to her feet. She had exhausted herself from beating me, but I planned to return the favor ten-fold.

I felt something hot and wet on my hands, but I kept throwing punches. My anger consumed me, boiling through my veins and overcoming any compassion I may have had. I lost my touch with humanity as I kept beating the whimpering stranger on the ground.

I didn't only take my anger toward her out on her. I beat her with my anger toward everyone, toward Dr. Young, toward Gordon, toward Bullock, toward _Hawkins_ even. My strength came from my frustration too, the fact that none of my memories had returned since I had stepped back into civilization.

A sharp pain in my ankle broke the red haze of fury, and I cried out, falling to my knees, bashing them against the ground. I tried to move my ankle, but something jerked on my pant leg. I twisted to look and saw the Rottweiler holding onto my pants.

"Let go," I growled, and the dog instantly released me. When I reached for the unmoving form close by, the dog grabbed the material again between its teeth. "I said let _go_." This time, it didn't release me but merely looked at me.

I yanked, but my leg wouldn't come free. I glared daggers at the dog, but hesitated. The Rottweiler had crouched so it could have a better grip on my ankle, but it also watched me, ears flat and its eyes fixed on me. I hesitated because of the look in the dog's eyes. It was…_pleading_, like it wanted me to stop. It was asking me to stop.

Unsure, I glanced over at the unconscious form, seeing a blood covering the white face, staining some of the black on her costume. Feeling the wetness on my hands, I realized what I had come. My stomach lurch, but I covered my mouth with my wrist, taking several deep breaths to calm my nerves. I dimly noticed the dog releasing my ankle.

Released, I pushed myself to my feet and without another look, I ran from the alley.

Half an hour later, I arrived at my apartment, but the Rottweiler came with me. It – or she – had followed me back and had gotten into my face when I had to sit for a moment due to lightheadedness. Half-tired and half-afraid of being caught talking to a dog and sent back to the asylum, I didn't bother to argue with the Rottweiler and to try to convince it to run along home. After calling 'Scout' several times, I realized I had caught myself a dog.

Knocking sounded on my door while I dried after a quick shower, and after hiding the dog in my bedroom, I opened it and found Dr. Young standing outside. She had come to apologize and hoped to take me out for dinner to make up for what she had said. Since I didn't want her knowing about the dog, I readily agreed, warning her that I had to be at work by ten. She insisted, when I grabbed my firearm, that I leave it behind. Remembering what had happened less than an hour ago, I was reluctant, but afraid of being asked, I left it, hoping I wouldn't regret it by the end of the night.

We went to dinner, and during it, I received a text from Jason, telling me that I didn't have to be in by midnight. I knew why. They didn't want to risk the paparazzi discovering that a former criminal was now working for the cops; how they managed to keep that out of the papers, I might never know.

Upon Dr. Young's – Teresa, since she insisted – suggestion, we went to see a movie, which passed the time, but we ended up talking during it. Yet we still managed to see enough to be able to talk about which male character we liked more.

"I liked the one with the vest," Teresa stated as we strolled out of the theater and into the cold night.

"Henry? Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me."

"I'm serious. He has perfect looks."

"But the worst personality. Com-_plete_-ly full of himself."

She threw me a look. "Better than Josh," she argued.

"Hey! Josh was a good guy," I protested. "But a misunderstood one."

"You wouldn't want to keep him around though. He's a backstabber."

I shrugged. "I fall for the bad boys."

We halted at a crosswalk, and Teresa punched the button. "That's quite ironic of you," she said, mysteriously.

"How is that ironic?" I asked.

"You and bad boys. If you don't mind me saying, Jason is one heck of a bad boy."

"Bad _cop_," I corrected. "And I strongly advise you to remain clear of him."

"What? So you can have him all to yourself?" She winked and chuckled as I punched her shoulder. "I'm only _teasing_," she said as we headed across the street.

"Yeah, well, that's a kind of teasing I don't like," I said, irritably. "Not after what I endure at work and having him constantly on my case."

"He's just _worried_ -."

"He needs to _stop_." I noticed how sharp my tone had become and apologized meekly for it.

"Don't apologize. Honestly, I think you apologize too much." She lifted a hand as I opened my mouth. "_Especially_ when it's not your fault. Having Jason around all the time is stressing you out. Which is another reason why I suggested a night-out." She shook her head. "I can't believe I had to promise to bring you to work at midnight, at the latest. Seriously, last time I had a curfew was when I was sixteen. I think he's being ridiculous."

"No kidding. Last time I checked, he wasn't my dad. It's only a girls' night-out."

"But the first time you've been out without fellow detectives," Teresa pointed out.

"Tis true," I admitted. "And I'm going to be at work in less than an hour." I checked my watch to ensure I was correct. Abruptly, Teresa grabbed my arm and yanked me into an alley. "Whoa! What are we doing?"

"You walk the sidewalk during the day," Teresa explained. "The fearless stroll the alleys at night." I rolled my eyes, moving to keep pace with her. "I can hear you rolling your eyes."

"Whoa! Sharp ears. Bet you'd be the best hunter ever."

Teresa halted in her tracks, tightening her grip on my arm and yanking me to her side. "Jane, I'm a protector, not a-."

A gunshot ricocheted in the alley, and Teresa gasped, releasing my arm and collapsing. Instinctively, I pressed my body against the wall, my hand reaching for my firearm. As footsteps marking the presence of the shooter approached, I remembered I had left it at home, as Teresa had instructed.

The dark silhouette of the shooter slowly came into view. On the ground, Teresa moaned in pain, and I stiffened as the shooter crouched beside her, close to my position. Without giving him more of a chance to get closer, I leaped at him, hoping to take him by surprise.

He was expecting me, simply waiting for me to react, either to scream and run or to attack him. He moved so fast, catching me as I leaped at him and with a heave, throwing me over his shoulder. My head knocked against the ground, causing my vision to swim.

Teresa cried out, but she was cut off with a strangled gasp. Another moment, and the shooter, a man, laughed. I heard the sickening _snap_ as I struggled to my feet. Thinking that I needed only to protect Teresa from the man, I tackled him from behind, trying to wrap my arms around his neck. He growled savagely, and grabbing my wrists and holding me in place, he threw himself, and me, against the wall.

The first hit sent shooting pain through my back, yet as it faded, I tightened my arms around his neck. With a few steps forward, he threw himself back again, knocking the air out of my lungs with the second collision. The third one ended my attempt to fight against him as I cracked my head on the brick wall.

He dropped me in a heap against the wall, wandering over to where Teresa lay. My vision was distorted because of the damage to my head, but I focused on the blurry silhouette of my attacker. He had once again crouched beside Teresa and had retrieved something from his jacket pocket. With a _click_, a bright light flashed on Teresa's form, and I heard the man curse angrily underneath his breath.

I whimpered, lifting a hand to cover my eyes as the bright light flashed in my direction, resting on my face. The man straightened, and his shoes neared me slowly. He crouched beside me, roughly grabbing my wrist and tearing my hand away from my eyes. I couldn't open them with the flashlight being shown in my face, and from the way the man grunted, it sounded like he had found what he was looking for.

I flinched as another gunshot went off, echoing in the otherwise quiet alley. The man jumped up, his hand reaching toward his ear. I squinted at him, and after a few moments of focusing, I could see blood dripping through his fingers.

I moved my leg, and the man, very attentive to any movement or noise, spun toward me, kicking me in the stomach. Having the wind knocked out of me, I lay there, gasping for air. As the man was facing me, he didn't notice the dark form that seemed to drop from the sky and land directly behind him. He stiffened as the stranger held something against his back.

"You might want to get lost while you're still ahead," a female voice said, confidently. I stared at the form, squinting in hopes of clearing my blurry vision, but it didn't help. The voice sounded familiar, but it wasn't one I could put a name and a face to.

When the man didn't move, the woman said, holding that confident tone, "Next time, I won't miss." And she reached her hand over to his bleeding ear, flicking it smartly. The man hissed, but he didn't need a third warning. He vanished from the alley in a blink of an eye.

The woman's figure blurred more than the man's had, and my eyelids grew heavy. I struggled to keep them open, watching as the woman knelt by Teresa and then came and knelt by me. She slipped her hand into my jacket pocket, withdrawing my wallet. I made a noise in protest, but she merely replaced my wallet in my pocket.

She reached into my other pocket, retrieving my cell phone. She pressed three buttons and then placed the phone in my limp hand. I looked at her through half-closed lids, struggling to keep consciousness. In the dark, I thought I might have seen a smile on her face, but I couldn't be quite sure. As she straightened, despite my best efforts, I slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

**Lordlink13****: Hope you all enjoyed Shadow beating the s*** out of Harley. She's a pain in the a**. And I'm just censoring it for the h*** of it. Enjoy, review, don't die.**


	12. A Family Reunion

"I Fold," one thug said, throwing down his cards.

Another one snickered. "You always Fold, Burt. What's the point of you playing?" He shook his head and announced, "I Call."

A third nodded, Calling as well.

The fourth, and last, player scoffed. "All right, show me your hands."

Dean smirked as the three Poker players revealed their hands. The fourth thug pulled a Royal Flush, causing the other two to throw down their cards in frustration. Dean wanted to play, for the sake of playing, but he wasn't here for his own amusement.

He glanced over at the Iceberg Lounge bar, seeing the Joker talking to Cobblepot – also known as the Penguin. It was said that the Penguin had given up being a criminal and had gone straight, but there were rumors that that wasn't true. It wouldn't be surprising if Cobblepot still committed crimes here and there, staying on the down low, and the only reason the cops didn't take him in was because he offered them valuable information. Besides, he still had his gang, who worked as the security in the Iceberg Lounge.

Dean took a quick survey of the room, counting the men in black tuxedos, wearing bowler hats. On a normal night, they would've been harder to spot amongst the rich people who generally dined here, but it was dead tonight. Dead to the law-abiding citizens, that is.

Criminals who could afford the alcohol and who also had the self-control to avoid being rowdy under the influence spent their nights at the Iceberg Lounge, generally hiring guys for a robbery of some kind or simply enjoying the entertainment of Billiards or Poker. They were the reason Cobblepot had the information he needed to keep the police off his back. Of course, a super-criminal dropped by now and then, which provided the Joker's reason for visiting.

Dean sighed inwardly and leaned back against the wall. The Joker had him running around the city since he had picked him up last night, gathering the men who once worked for the purple-clad clown and recruiting new thugs when he discovered a few were still locked up in Blackgate. He hated being considered a messenger boy, but Dean didn't argue when the Joker ordered for him to locate a good place for a hideout, where he later dropped his boss off.

Dean had snatched an hour or two of sleep before the Joker had awakened him rudely earlier, demanding to know where Harley was. He had known better than to say that he didn't know; he simply got into his car and went out to search for her. He didn't return until he found her in an alley, bleeding on the ground. After checking to see if she was still alive, Dean did what he could to bandage her up and then take her back to the Joker's hideout.

Dean was present while the Joker smacked Harley around, yelling at her and calling her an idiot for going out by herself. Of course, he was furious over the fact that she had taken one of the Rottweilers with her and had lost her. Dean's heart ached for Scout, but he didn't reveal his pain at the loss.

He had a bit of hope when Harley explained why she had been beaten, that the crazy McKinley had attacked her. The Joker had laughed gleefully at the suggestion that Shadow had attacked Harley over him, but Dean sensed that that wasn't why. All he hoped for was that Scout had recognized Shadow and had followed her home, to which Shadow simply took her in.

A loud _slam_ caused a number of Poker players to jump, startled. The Penguin's men quickly retrieved their firearms from their sides and aimed at the ornate doors, which had been shoved open by a tall, scrawny frame standing between them.

Scarecrow, also known as Jonathan Crane, stood there for a moment, looking around through slits in his mask. He wore a business suit, clean cut and neat. The only thing ragged about him was his mask that looked like a potato sack pulled over his head.

Scarecrow's head snapped in the Joker's direction as he began clapping. "_Nice_ entrance," the Joker commented, "Don't know why you needed it, but it was very dramatic."

Scarecrow marched forward, his eyes fixed upon the Joker. Dean reached for his firearm in his waistband but stopped as the Joker chuckled.

"Is that a tic tac in your pocket, or are you just excited to see me?" the Joker asked, giggling like a kid, unaware of Cobblepot nervously shifting away from the bar. The Joker only noted that Scarecrow was headed straight for him and opened his arms out wide. "How 'bout a friendly hug, Scarecrow? That should make you-."

The Joker never finished his sentence. Scarecrow came into arm's reach and swung at him, scoring a heavy punch into the clown's jaw. A nice _crack_ resonated from the Joker's neck as his head jerked to the side. A laugh burst from his lips, but was cut short by a second fist slamming into his face.

In a flash, the clown's demeanor shifted. As Scarecrow went for a third punch, the Joker's hand snapped down on his wrist, shoving it down and thrusting his own fist into the ragged mask. The ex-psychiatrist stumbled backward and then lifted his arm. As the fear gas escaped its capsule, the clown quickly dodged around him and kicked him from the side, knocking him into a barstool.

Using the bar counter, Scarecrow heaved himself back to his feet and raised an arm to block the Joker's flying fist. Angered, the purple-clad clown pressed his hands against the other man's chest, shoving his roughly into the counter. A grunt sounded underneath the mask, and while Scarecrow attempted to recover, the Joker grabbed the top of the mask and tore it off, flinging it to the side.

"Didn't your mother teach you to pick on somebody your own size?" the Joker demanded, giggling menacingly as he gripped the front of Jonathan's suit.

"Doesn't seem like _your_ mother did," Jonathan retorted, his eyes blazing.

"Don't fall to my level. Say something no one here can understand, and I'll punch your lights out."

Jonathan sneered. "Right now, you couldn't, even if you wanted to."

A dark look crossed the Joker's face. "Oh, I think I _can_. It's just a matter of whether or not _you'd_ like to test it. Mind you, your confidence will take a, ah _nasty_ hit."

Like a slimy eel, Scarecrow slammed his head against the Joker's and slipped out of his grasp. He tackled the clown around the middle, knocking him down on the ground.

His hand still resting on his firearm, Dean hastily navigated around the tables and chairs to get a clearer view of the fight. The Joker and Scarecrow beat on one another, rolling around and struggling to gain the top position. A Poker player made the remark that they should get a room, but another thug rapidly cuffed him, urging him to keep his mouth shut.

"Where did _you_ learn to fight?" the Joker asked, making conversation as he struggled with Scarecrow. Jonathan made no attempt to reply, just swiftly struck the clown several times. "Must've been Raven. She's certainly a fighter, that one."

Abruptly, Scarecrow gained the top, his eyes alit. "I'll kill you," he said.

"Whoa, last time I checked," the Joker grunted, "Killing wasn't your thing."

"Now it is, and you'll be the first one."

The clown rolled his eyes. "I am _not_ amused."

Scarecrow punched him hard. "This wasn't amusing from the _start_," he growled.

"What-tah did I do? I owe Raven a favor."

"Two favors, and you can repay both by dying right now."

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

Scarecrow's hands moved from the Joker's vest to his throat. Seeing this, Dean instantly stepped out and lifted his firearm. "Release him," he ordered.

The ex-psychiatrist ignored him. "A mad dog deserves nothing more than to be put down." The Joker, holding tightly to Scarecrow's forearms, in an attempt to get him off him, tried to speak but choked instead. Scarecrow's expression shifted to callous and calm. He sneered as he said, "Interesting that a mad dog such as yourself can't keep the pack together on a lease."

The Joker, despite choking, raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"You don't know? One of your pups got loose because someone let it off the chain, letting the mad one go and kill someone close to me. Do you know who is _responsible_ for that damn pup's actions?" Scarecrow leaned down, his face looming into the clown's. "The top dog. You."

With a violent heave, the Joker jerked at Scarecrow's arms, managing to bring one close enough to bite down hard on. Scarecrow hissed in pain, retracting swiftly. The clown shoved him off and then pounced, raining his fists down on the tall man.

Dean watched, knowing he couldn't, and shouldn't, get involved. Blood started to fly with each of the Joker's punches, staining his clothing and the floor. So transfixed was he that he didn't notice the shadow that slipped up behind the Joker until last minute.

The shadow cracked the Joker over the head with the butt of a rifle. Dean's eyes widened as the clown collapsed to the side, hitting the ground with a _thud_. Scarecrow attempted to sit up, but the shadow placed a foot on his chest, holding him down.

"Not yet," the shadow said, and Dean blinked, realizing it was a woman.

With her back to him, he couldn't see much. She wore her long brown hair braided with a clunky green streak, and her clothing consisted of green converse that matched the streak, black skinny jeans, black band t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. She looked odd in regards to the group converging on the two criminals on the floor.

After a few moments, the Joker started moving, rolling onto his back and raising a hand to his head. His eyelids fluttered open, and he squinted at the woman hovering over him.

"Look alive, sunshine," she said, pleasantly. "Was the floor comfortable?"

"Is that who I think it is?" He propped himself up onto his elbows, narrowing his eyes more as he tilted his head. "Oh, hell, it _is_."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" the woman demanded, sharply. Her bangs fell into her eyes, and she swiped them away.

The Joker shrugged as he attempted to climb to his feet. In response, the woman pointed her gun – which turned out to be a sniper rifle – at his face. "Attempt to get up again and you'll lose your nose."

"Not my _beautiful_ nose." He clapped his hands over it, as if to shield it, and the woman chuckled lightly. "Love the…" He paused, squinting at her again. "What would one call it the skunk strip."

"Honey, it isn't called a skunk stripe if it isn't white." She slung her gun over her shoulder and placed her hands on her hips. "You two done fighting?" she asked. "I have places to be."

"You heard that?" the Joker demanded, glancing over at Scarecrow. "She's bossing _us_ around. Like she's our mother or something."

"If you remember correctly, Joker, I practically _was_."

The Joker glared at her, and she arched an eyebrow, causing him to stick his tongue out like a child. "Just because you did my laundry once or twice-."

"And made dinner so you didn't _starve_," she added.

"And that, doesn't make you my mother."

"You wish I was."

Scarecrow lifted his head off the floor, looking from the woman to the Joker. "Sister?" he asked.

"Don't start prying now, Potato Head," the Joker snapped. "I don't _have_ siblings."

"Bullshit," the woman remarked. "You just use us for free labor, and then pretend we don't exist the rest of the time." She glanced over, and her piercing blue eyes fixed upon Dean.

He froze, his blood running cold, as he realized that he _knew_ those eyes, especially that stare. After a moment, she winked at him and then turned away, shutting him out.

The woman lifted her foot off Scarecrow and jerked her head toward the door. "I think you're capable of showing yourself out. I have something to _discuss_ with this one." She stared pointedly at the Joker, who raised his hands and looked around, as if he thought she was talking about somebody else. "Yes, _you_," she said, kicking his foot.

Scarecrow made a hasty exit, and the woman approached the bar. "Hey, scotch, neat, thanks," she hollered, knocking roughly on the counter.

Cobblepot popped up from underneath it, groaning and rubbing his ears. "Isn't it a bit early?" he asked.

"It's five o'clock _some_-where."

The Joker shook his head, as he chuckled. The woman shot him a look. "Still drinking? I thought I warned you about that."

"Bite me," she sneered. As Cobblepot poured her a glass, she seated herself on a barstool and leaned against the bar.

"Are you even, ah, _old_ enough to drink?" the Joker asked from the floor.

"You're the one who started us drinking young." She tapped her fingers against the counter, glancing over her shoulder at Cobblepot. He eyed her suspiciously as he pushed the glass toward her and then shuffled away. She drained it quickly.

"Thirsty?"

"Duh. I needed it 'cause I have to clean up your messes all day." She set the glass down and looked down at him, seeing how confused he was. "How's Arkham, by the way? Heard you were locked up again."

"I got out."

"I can see that."

The Joker glared. "Straining our relationship already? You've only been back for a few hours. What would mother dearest say?"

The woman's stare was cold. "I've been back a day, actually." Before he could change the subject again, she injected, "Where's your lady friend?"

"Which one?" he asked.

"Um, the not bitchy one."

"Don't have one of those."

She attempted to kick him, but he defended himself, ready for it. "The first one, then."

"You were my first." She stuck her tongue out at him. "You must mean the first here in Gotham." She rolled her eyes, indicating a 'yes'. "She's up and about."

The woman leaned over the counter. "Hey, Cobblepot," she hollered, "You got any coffee?"

"Coffee right after scotch?" The Joker said it like he was disgusted by the possible mix of taste, but she simply shrugged. As Cobblepot warily poured her a cup, the Joker's eyes widened, and he jumped to his feet. "You're not going to see her."

"See who?" the woman asked innocently, sipping at the hot liquid. Her eyes widened and she pushed the coffee away. "Not as good as the scotch," she said to herself.

"Stay away from her, you understand me?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Hey, where can I get a good cup of coffee?"

The Joker's face darkened, and after a moment, he spun on his heel and stormed away, slamming the ornate doors as he left.

She smirked, standing up and heading after him. She paused at the Poker table and leaned over, whispering, "He's always been moody, even as a child."

Burt, who had managed to consume three beers since Scarecrow had attacked the clown, drunkenly stood and asked, "Wanna come home with me, beautiful?"

The woman smiled. "I'm sorry, dear, but don't you think you're a _bit_ out of your league?" She straightened. "And I don't think you would like to see what would happen to you if Joker found out you slept with his little sister." Laughing at the other Poker players' faces, she headed for the exit.

Dean stood off to the side, waiting for her. "His sister?" he asked.

"Mhm, and he wouldn't hesitate to hurt you either." She flashed him a quick grin before slipping out.

* * *

My eyes cracked open as the blaring of sirens reached my ears. I groaned, trying not to move too quickly as it caused pain shooting through my body. My head pounded with a vengeance as I slowly rolled onto my side. I heard a clatter as my phone slipped from my hand and slid on the ground, where I left it. It felt like a heavy weight was crushing down on my ribs as I moved, making breathing difficult.

I managed a sitting position, propping myself against the brick wall. My back ached, but gradually, that soon faded. My bruised ribs protested as I breathed gingerly, but the pain didn't compare to the agony in my head.

As blue and red lights began flashing against the alley walls, I looked over and saw the motionless form on the ground a short distance from me. It took me a moment to recall what her name was, but as I gingerly pulled myself away from the wall, I realized that Teresa Young's neck lay at an awkward angle. Her chest remained motionless as I crawled over to her. I pressed my fingers against her wrist and feeling for a pulse. Nothing.

Sirens and flashing lights arrived, and I heard the shuffling as the police, then the firefighters and ambulances appeared. I remembered vaguely that no one had spoken into my cell when it had called 911 so it made sense that all three services had come. Shapes moved around the alley, cops, EMTs. I ignored them, unable to tear my gaze from Dr. Young's lifeless body.

She was gone. The only person I trusted, or _had_ trusted enough to talk to, maybe not very much about what went on inside my head, but the outside problems, yes. The only other person I felt who had come close to knowing and understanding me.

An EMT placed himself between me and Teresa Young and asked me a few questions while checking my vitals. I answered him, and he accepted them, gently helping me to my feet and guiding me to the back of the ambulance.

Vaguely, I heard my name being called, and I told the EMT not to let the caller come near me, that I didn't want him with me. He nodded, placing a blanket on my shoulders for shock, and left to stop Jason Hawkins from reaching me. I spotted Nash's face behind Jason, and when another EMT stepped into the ambulance, I asked him if he could retrieve Nash, so I had someone. I pointed him out, and Nash climbed in, sitting beside me as the second EMT performed the routine check on me.

Throughout it, I couldn't banish the image of Teresa Young from my mind. She had helped me in Arkham and had done what she could for me outside, even though she had no authority to aid me. If anyone at the asylum had found out, she would have been suspended and questioned. After losing Jonathan Crane, one of their top psychiatrists – two, if Harleen Quinzel counted – to crime, Arkham couldn't risk having any of their doctors getting too close to their patients.

Now, with the loss of Dr. Young, Arkham's staff shrunk yet another great psychiatrist, because of me. I understood why my attacker had cursed under his breath when he was bent over Teresa's form; he had killed the wrong person. Because she had been with me when he attacked, he mistook her for me. Because of me, she was dead.

When the EMT asked, I explained how the man had attacked me and how the fight had caused damage to my body. He nodded as I described the scene. "That all fits," he said. "You have signs of a minor concussion, but we wouldn't have to take you to the hospital. If Nash here would stay around you and keep you awake for a few hours, you should be fine."

I nodded as I leaned against Nash. Now that the EMT mentioned it, I felt the need to close my eyes and fall asleep. Nash shook me. I protested, but he said, "I'm keeping you awake. C'mon." He grasped me under my arm in a firm grip and wrapped his other arm around my shoulders.

"Where are we going?" I asked, confused and fighting the urge to fall asleep.

"Down to the MCU," he replied. "It'll keep you awake, with all the noise and people around." I groaned, and he smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry. Give it a few hours and then I'll take you home. Deal?"

"Okay," I muttered.

"Keep talking, McKinley. It'll help keep you awake."

"Argue with me. You'd have a better chance of winning right now."

He chuckled and led me through the crowd that was converging onto the scene.

"Jane. Jane!" I heard someone calling my name again, and inwardly, I heaved a frustrated sigh. "Nash, stop!" Before I could warn Nash, Jason appeared out of the crowd, stepping in our path. "Hey, what's going on?" he demanded, staring at me. "Why wouldn't the guy let me see you, but let's Nash?"

Nash moved to response, but I quickly explained, "Because I didn't want to see you."

Jason's eyes flashed, and he looked hurt. "Jane, I'm your friend. Tell me, please, is there anything you want me to do? What did the EMT say?"

"Nothing to worry about," I said, before Nash spoke.

"Jane, you're hurt! How could the EMT just let you go?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Here, I'll drive you home." He reached for my arm, grabbing about my elbow and tugging. "Nash, you don't have to bother. I'll-."

"Get your hands off me, _Hawkins_," I snapped, violently ripping my arm out of his grasp. He looked at me, wide-eyed, shocked. "If you cleaned out your ears and _listened_, you'd realize that it's nothing to worry about. And I'm not going home with you. I'd rather go back to the MCU than be alone with you. Nash, let's go."

I grabbed Nash's arm and yanked him along with me, storming over to his car. He wordlessly opened the passenger side for me, and I stepped in, fuming. We drove away, leaving Jason standing there.

Along the way, Nash finally broke the silence and said, "Well, at least you're wide awake now."

I simply nodded, realizing that in the heat of my anger, I had forgotten about my minor concussion. Now, I had fury racing through my veins, keeping me awake and alert. By the time we reached the MCU, however, the adrenaline had faded, leaving me struggling to keep from falling asleep again.

I sat on a bench inside the main area of the MCU, waiting miserably for my torment to end. On a daily basis, the volume was loud, but with the sensitivity in my ears, due to the pounding headache, the noise hurt. Nash spent what time he could with me, talking about how things were in the place since I had been gone all day, but soon, he was called away. Murphy joined me and told me how things were about the Catwoman case, explaining why I was kept out of the news and how the case had closed.

Eventually, he too was called away, and I was left alone. Time passed slowly, my ears and head constantly aching with the noise.

A cop approached and handed me my cell phone. I looked up, reading his lips as he explained that he discovered it on the ground at the crime scene. The technician had already examined it and only found my prints so it wasn't going to be used as evidence. I nodded and thanked him. He pulled out a notepad and asked if I would be willing to answer a few questions. After agreeing, he proceeded to ask for my account of what occurred. I answered truthfully and in full, and when he was done, he left.

"I'm sure you've been asked already, but are you okay?" I shrugged from my position, head bowed and held up by my arms resting on my knees. "I can't take that as an answer."

"No one's asked, Gordon," I replied. "They've been trying to avoid bringing it up."

He wearily plopped himself down beside me, and I dropped my hands, simply allowing them to dangle between my legs. "I wonder if you'd be okay alone," he said.

"You know Hawkins isn't going to let me out of his sight," I told him. "He'll stand right outside my apartment door all night."

"I heard you told the EMTs not to allow him near you."

"I didn't want him hovering."

"He cares about you."

"I know. He takes it _way_ over the top."

Gordon gazed in Jason's direction. As if sensing we were talking about him, Jason turned his head, locking gazes with the Commissioner.

Jason frowned slightly and turned, as if he thought Gordon had summoned him over. The Commissioner shook his head ever so slightly, and the lieutenant averted his eyes, his frown deepening.

"Do you want a ride home?" Gordon asked me, averting his attention back to me.

"Is my concussion watch over?" I glanced over at him, waiting for his response.

He nodded, and I remained quiet, dropping my gaze. "You'd probably like to be alone where there's peace and quiet," he guessed.

"What made you think that?"

"You've been grimacing a lot and constantly covering your ears like it hurts." He shifted. "I'd prefer you get a ride from someone so I know you got home safely."

"I'll ask Bullock," I told him, standing.

"I didn't think you two were on the best terms."

"That's the point. Bullock still doesn't trust me. For all I know, he believes I'm the one who killed Teresa Young." Gordon opened his mouth to protest, but I carelessly shrugged. "He'll keep two eyes on me."

"Something Hawkins would approve of, since he's worried about your safety." I nodded. Gordon heaved himself to his feet and held out his hand. I took it. "I'd tell you to remain at home tomorrow night, but…"

"We'll see how I'm feeling by tomorrow," I said.

The Commissioner gave me a curt nod. "Rest well, McKinley." I bowed my head, returning the nod and went to seek out Bullock.

Bullock wasn't difficult to locate, sitting at his desk, slurping at his coffee and chewing away on a glazed donut. The moment I walked in, his casual façade evaporated. "What do _you_ want?" he demanded.

Despite his rudeness – particularly in the light of what I endured through the night – I had to smile. "Your cold demeanor is much appreciated," I said, bowing my head slightly. "Much preferred to the pity."

Bullock scoffed around his mouthful of donut. "Not one for pity?" he asked, muffled.

"Can't stand it. That's what I like about you." He raised an eyebrow. "More like the _only_ thing I like."

He gave me a long look, as if trying to determine if I was joking or not. He finished chewing his mouthful, swallowing it quickly. "I don't want you liking me," he stated finally, before shoving the rest of the donut in his mouth.

"Nor you me," I said, smiling slightly.

He nodded, curtly, unable to speak due to his mouth being full again. When he swallowed, he asked, "So what brings you here?"

"I need a ride and wondered if you would mind."

"I _do_ mind."

"I'll buy you some more donuts." Bullock glanced at his desk, realizing he had eaten the last one. "And a coffee too, if you like."

"Why don't you ask Hawkins?" he asked as he stood, grabbing his coat, having already decided to drive me. "He looks like he would rather you yell at him than give him the cold shoulder."

I wasn't sure if the reference to my outburst at the crime scene was Bullock's attempt to joke at my expense. "I don't want pity. Besides," I added, "I haven't exchanged any insults with you since last night. I missed our arguments and your attempts to get me into trouble."

"Frankly, I did too." He motioned me out of his office, following me and locking his door. As we headed out the back, I heard Jason call after me and Bullock. "I'm taking her home," Bullock said in a gruff reply.

"I can do that," Jason argued, catching up with us.

"Commissioner told me to, Hawkins," Bullock retorted.

Jason glared at him, Bullock returning the favor. I rolled my eyes and snapped, "Boys, quit acting like you have something to prove. Hawkins, go ask the Commissioner if you've got a problem." Jason snapped out of his intense stare-down and blinked at me. I gave him a cold glare in return, daring him to argue with me.

Jason wasn't going to back down that easily, except for the fact that Gordon called for him at that precise moment. With a final look at Bullock, Hawkins left.

Bullock scoffed as we headed for his car. "How can you stand him?" he asked, stepping in and reaching over to unlock the passenger side. "I hear he asks you out often, and I always have him in my face whenever you're mentioned in a conversation."

"Magic," I replied, climbing in, "And a great deal of fake patience."

"_Fake_ patience?" he repeated.

"I can't _stand_ him; I've blown up in his face a few times."

Bullock chuckled. "I enjoy hearing those stories. He deserves it." I looked at him in surprise. "That's my only thing I like about you; you stand your ground and fight him every step of the way. You don't stand for his crap." He glanced over and said, "Coffee and donuts first."

I shrugged. "Sure thing, chief."

"Don't use the name on me, and I'll buy the coffee."

I laughed. "Sounds like a plan."

"Hey," he said.

"Hm?"

"This doesn't mean I like you. We're not friends."

I smiled. "Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

**Lordlink13: And there goes kind Dr. Young, the one who understood Shadow most..._not_! A**** psychiatrist isn't trustworthy. I'm sorry, I don't trust them. They pick your brain until you start spurt out everything you don't want others to know about. That, and if any of you cared about Raven, she had to go. R.I.P. Dr. Teresa Young. Read and review.**


	13. Xander's Offer

I bolted upright, panting and sweating like a dog. Images flashed across my vision, some taunting me in my peripheral sight. It felt as if a heavy weight crushed my chest, stopping me from taking a breath.

Throwing myself off the bed, I hurried to the window and wrenched it open with a heave. The cool breeze struck my face, freezing the sweat, and I gulped, choking slightly on nothing. My hands clenched the windowsill, flinching against the persistent images but forced myself to breathe.

Minutes passed, and the cold got to me. I slowly closed the window, only to decide to leave it open a bit. The room needed some circulation anyway.

As I stumbled back to my bed, the Rottweiler I had "adopted" lifted her head, whining and looking at me with what could have been concern. Slightly annoyed, I grabbed a hoodie from the closet and yanked it over my head as I moved into the living room, purposefully closing the bedroom door to leave the dog in there. Clicking on the light, I slipped my feet into my shoes, snatching my keys and phone before I exited my apartment.

The rush of wind welcomed me on the rooftop. I fought it as I closed the door so it didn't slam and wake up the top floor residents. Hugging myself, I took in the view of the city.

Gotham looked the same as ever. Constant car honking filled the air; an occasional tire squeal or police siren pierced the night. I padded over to the corner spot, only to halt abruptly when I saw a woman sitting there.

She seemed intent on looking through what she was holding. A photographer, I realized as I took in the thick strap around her neck. The light from the streets didn't reveal much, except the camera, her form, and her messy braid.

The camera clicked, and she pulled away from it, checking the small screen. The fluorescent light reflected in her light blue eyes, her eyebrows lowering as she scrutinized the photo.

I realized I hadn't moved since I spotted her so I turned, intending to leave.

"You don't _have_ to leave."

I flinched, glancing at the woman. She hadn't looked in my direction, yet she knew I was there.

"How long did you know?" I asked.

"Since you stepped outside." The woman brought her camera close, aiming it out at the city. She adjusted the focus of the lens and snapped another photo.

"Anything interesting?"

She shrugged, focusing on a third picture, set at a slightly different angle. Once she snapped it, she responded. "This city's beautiful, and that's saying a lot since I've seen a number of elegant places."

"A traveling photographer?"

She turned, her gaze piercing through me, almost like she saw everything. "I don't like to be trapped," she replied, reaching into her pocket as she stepped closer to me. I almost backstepped, but she grabbed my hand, placing cold coins and a few bills into it.

"Your change, from the other night," she explained at my confused expression. "I apologize for yelling at you. I had been driving for more than twenty hours. I was kinda irritated."

"Kinda?" I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. I wasn't in the best mood either. Sorry."

The woman shrugged and turned back to the view. "Name's Xander Eccleston."

"I'm Jane McKinley."

"You been in the media recently?" she asked, throwing a glance over her shoulder.

I shook my head. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Your name sounds awfully familiar." I couldn't see the woman all that well in the dark, but I believe she was smiling. "By the way, no, it's not."

I narrowed my eyes slightly. "What?"

"When you say your name, you don't own it, like _you_ know it isn't yours." After a moment, I shook my head rapidly. "Deny it all you want," Xander said, shrugging carelessly, checking her lens.

I bit my lower lip, at a loss of words. Xander snapped a few photos, carefully adjusting her lens and aiming with precision. After a long silence, Xander said, "I've been scheming."

"Scheming?"

"Of how to officially meet you." She gestured to the rooftop. "This works. I didn't have to scheme." She smiled. "So, what brings you up here at three in the morning?" She glanced at her wristwatch. "Oh, sorry, I mean three forty."

Silently, I sighed, glancing at my own watch and inwardly groaning at the time. "Inability to sleep," I said finally in reply.

"Happens to the best of us."

"Same for you?"

"No, this is my awake time." She grinned, as if to her own personal joke. "I'm a night person." She glanced over her shoulder again and added, "You are too."

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm observant."

I shuffled my feet nervously. "What else can you see?" I asked, warily.

Xander turned and faced me. She didn't speak for awhile, her eyes scanning me. I resisted the urge to move despite her piercing gaze. If looks could kill…

"A detective," she stated finally, "Who really isn't one." I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms. "What? Not curious about how I know that?" I didn't change my position. "Don't get upset, darling. I look at you and think 'lost'."

"Lost?" I repeated, allowing my irritation through.

"Someone who's lost who she is." Xander examined her camera, seating herself on the short wall as she said, "I can recognize it because I've been there."

A silence fell over us, both gazing out at the lively city. I saw Xander's hand shift and pat the spot beside her. With a moment of hesitation, I plopped down, feeling weary.

"May I see your hand?"

"Um, sure." She took my offered hand and gently applied pressure on my palm. "What are you doing?"

She shrugged and stood, still holding my hand. "You up to coffee?"

I raised an eyebrow, giving her look. She stood there, her expression neutral as she waited for my answer. I finally said, "Sure."

"Great! I'll drive!" she exclaimed, excitedly.

If I had been driving with someone I knew, I'm sure I would have allowed myself to relax and enjoy the music. Xander blasted her speakers in her Hyundai Tiburon, playing Linkin Park without a care, she reminded me of teenage drivers who rolled down their windows and the bass pounded through you two cars away. I could have enjoyed it, if not for the fact that I had no idea where we were going. I hadn't been on this side of town, so it was obvious why I started feeling edgy.

"Don't tell me you've never done this before," Xander said. She had noticed how tense I was and, by my guess, had been waiting to see if I relaxed at all.

Nothing went unnoticed around her. I grinned sheepishly, shrugging. "Didn't experience being a teenager."

"Overpowering parents?" I opened my mouth but clamped it shut. When I didn't answer, Xander asked, "Am I right?"

"I don't know…" Out of an old habit, I rubbed my knuckles.

"What do you mean? You don't remember?"

"I…" I closed my eyes. This was the second time I had crossed paths with her, and we hardly knew each other. Should I tell her and trust her with the secret I keep from whomever I could? I didn't even know if she was a friend or foe yet. "Can I trust you?" The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them, and I realized with dread that I may be _too_ trusting…

"With anything," she replied. "You can be a mass-murdering psychopath or a psychiatrist, you can trust me. The question is whether _I_ trust _you_."

"Psychiatrist?" The example surprised me.

"Long story. I _hate_ psychiatrists who claim they're going to rewire your brain."

"Ditto." Xander threw me a look. "Kind of a long story."

"We've got all night," she pointed out. "I'll share mine if you share yours."

"Why me first?"

"I don't trust you. You work for the cops." She shrugged. "You don't have to, but don't expect me to say anything."

I nodded, even though she didn't see it. I couldn't think of anything to say so I simply sat there, watching the city fly by. After a few moments, it clicked; we were heading for Iceberg Lounge.

"I see you've noticed."

"How did you-?"

"You're very easy to read, darling. Understand this now, I'm not kidnapping you. There are a few things I'd like to establish with you."

"Such as?"

She pulled into a parking spot and said, "Dinner first."

"What?"

"I'm _hungry_," she insisted.

"So much for coffee," I muttered.

"Don't be bitter."

"What?"

"Ugh, I really want a good cup of coffee. Get out, will you?" I obeyed, and we headed inside.

The moment I walked in, I felt a sense of déjà vu. It was practically empty, except for a few tables with guys drinking and playing Poker. I narrowed my eyes as I glanced over one table; the situation felt familiar, and maybe in a past life, I played Poker too.

Xander grabbed my arm, leading me to the bar, and knocked on it, grabbing a seat. A short, round man popped out from the backroom and rolled his eyes at the sight of Xander. He approached warily, like he was secretly frightened, or annoyed, by her – my guess was the latter – and as he neared, I caught a whiff of what smelled like fish.

"Back again?" he asked.

"Cut the niceties, Cobblepot," Xander interrupted. "Dinner for two, and I want a _private_ booth. I don't want you eavesdropping."

Cobblepot nodded, and with a glance at me, he motioned us around the bar and led us into the backroom. Up a staircase, we appeared on a landing with a single table that overlooked the entire lounge.

"This is my private dining spot," Cobblepot explained.

"Obviously," Xander said, impatiently.

He cleared his throat and stated dinner would be served before he disappeared down the stairs.

Xander immediately made herself comfortable, putting her mobile on silent. "I'm all yours."

I eyed her curiously. Who was this woman? She wore casual clothing, skinny jeans, band shirt, green converse, which matched the streak of dyed hair. The green hair looked odd in her brown locks, but with her demeanor, it worked. "Are you _sure_ you're not kidnapping me?" I asked.

"No, because I would have taken your mobile." She grinned. "Might want to check it anyway."

Consciously, I slid my hand over my pocket, feeling the familiar shape of my phone. "You're enjoying this too much," I accused, my eyes narrowed slightly.

"You'd enjoy it too if you'd _relax_." I quirked an eyebrow. She returned the gesture, leaning back and crossed her arms. "Besides, how many kidnappers take their victims out to dinner at nearly four in the morning?"

"Good point." I leaned forward, clasping my hands and setting them on the tabletop. "_If_ you were kidnapping me, how would you go about it?"

"Gas you," Xander replied, laughing as if it were an inside joke. I grinned and dropped it as our meal arrived.

Dinner consisted of meatloaf, roasted and mashed potatoes with gravy, corn, and peas. Instead of coffee, Xander asked for a Diet Coke, to which I raised an eyebrow. Noticing it, she explained it was because she didn't like their coffee here. We ate quietly, mainly focused on the food, only making a few comments now and then about the food. Overall, it tasted very good.

Afterwards, Xander wiped her mouth and set her napkin aside. "So," she began, "You hate psychiatrists."

"Very much so. I've only met one I liked."

"How many have you had?"

"Two or three. How 'bout you?"

"Two or three dozen. I think I win. Sorry, doll."

My hand clenched underneath the table. "What was your issue?"

"You first."

"Rock, paper, scissors?"

She shook her head. "No dice."

I sighed. "Post-traumatic amnesia, depression, suicidal at one point…"

"Trade?"

"Depends on what you had."

Xander smiled. "Have," she corrected. "Let's see…depression, a tad of schizophrenia, and some PTSD."

"Schizophrenia?"

"Uh-huh, I write in my spare time." She smirked. "I love your expression. Trying to connect the pieces?"

I squinted, scrutinizing her face and hoping that I could read what she was thinking. There was no change, obviously, but I thought I would try. "Cobblepot doesn't trust you. Maybe he's frightened, maybe he's annoyed, but he's definitely suspicious."

"So?" she inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

"_So_…what are you?"

"A freelance sniper. I chose who I work for."

"Sounds familiar. Not the sniper part, but you choosing."

"I think it should. Unless it's true you still don't remember." My eyes widened. "Every criminal in this city knows the other criminals – even ex-criminals – fairly well."

"You're new."

"It's true, but I know someone who knows this city and its inhabitants inside and out."

I raised an eyebrow, questioningly. Xander smirked and sipped at her soda, daring me with her eyes to ask. Unsure if I wanted to hear the answer, I simply kept quiet, taking a gulp from my coffee. We sat in silence for awhile; Xander appeared to be enjoying herself, watching me silently struggling.

"A freelance sniper," I said, when the silence started to kill me. She nodded, waving her hand, as if telling me to continue. "So, I assume you've killed-." I spotted her eyebrow raising and cleared my throat. "You've _fulfilled_ someone's wishes. In particular" – I whispered – "_death_ wishes."

Xander clapped her hands. "A very good deduction."

"I'm a detective," I told her, and she nodded. "I don't understand."

"Hm?"

"Why do you trust me? I work for the opposing side."

"You're a cop, but not a cop," Xander said, leaning forward. "Once a criminal-."

"Don't say 'always a criminal'. It's not true."

"In your situation, it's true. You don't remember being a criminal, it was torn from under you. When given the chance, you'll return to it so fast…"

"Are you offering it?" I demanded, my tone hardening.

"No," Xander answered, simply.

"Why not?" I bit my tongue, realizing how eager I sounded; Xander smirked.

"It's not my place, darling."

"Who's place _is_ it?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know? You're so eager to return-."

"No, that's not what I want."

"Whatever you say." Xander leaned back casually. "You're taking this fairly well."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"You haven't made any move to call your fellow cops," Xander said, matter-of-factly.

"Why would it matter who I called?"

"It wouldn't. Not to me, at least. Cobblepot would beg to differ." I smirked. "You're in criminal territory anyway. Everyone's a criminal in here. _You_ are no expectation," she added before I could protest. "Really, look how at ease you are, away from 'society'." She air-quoted the last part. "Out late, out of the cops' reach, it's a taste of freedom, a freedom you once had and owned proudly. You were one of the greats. Had this town in a chokehold," Xander said, proudly.

I stared, resisting the urge to drop my mouth. Instead, I narrowed my eyes. "Do I know you?"

"We only met tonight, but I've heard a great deal about you."

I bit my lower lip. "Who did I work for?"

Xander's smile faded, and I felt a sense of dread. "Do you really want to know?" she asked, slowly.

"Yes!" I exclaimed, loudly. I clapped my hand over my mouth, realizing how abrupt I was. "Sorry. I've asked a number of people, and no one would tell me." A look of worry crossed Xander's face. "You're not one of them, are you?"

Anger flashed across Xander's face. "No, I'm _not_ like the rest of them." Inhaling through her nose, she calmed enough to ask, "Honestly, do you want to know?"

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded meekly, my heart pounding in my chest.

Xander exhaled and said, "The Clown Prince of Crime himself." My breath hitched in my throat, a strange buzzing ringing in the back of my head. After a moment, she added with a small smile, "Gotta love him."

I flinched, gripping my head tightly with a hand. "No…"

"What?" Xander said, alarmed.

My head pounded furiously. Finally, some of my confusion lifted. The way no one at Arkham would answer my question of who did I work for; the reason the clown had killed Dr. Keaton so that I received a newer, and better, doctor; it even explains why Harley Quinn had attacked me with such a strong vendetta. _It made sense_.

"Hey."

I shook my head. "I've made-out with him, at least once."

"Is it the greasy hair or lips you remember the best?" Xander grinned. "Or his awesome ass?"

"How 'bout all of the above?" I said, wincing.

"No one who can get past the scars would blame you."

I looked at her, my eyes hardly focused. "You?"

"We had a form of relationship once. Didn't last long."

"Did he leave you?"

"No, I left him."

"What reason?"

"He's a narcissist; it was all about him. That, and I couldn't stand him."

"Did you two…_sleep_ together?"

Xander's eyes widened slightly, and then she smiled. "Hell no, it wasn't that kind of relationship. Mind you, this was before he became the Joker."

I giggled and then stopped, eyes widening in horror. "No…" I whispered. "This is wrong."

"It is natural to fall for someone you work closely with. He is a great guy if you can get past the temper. You just need to decide, if you'd rather have the job or someone you had been in love with."

"But I _was_," I argued. "Not now. He's a criminal I have to catch, to bring back to Arkham where he belongs."

"Criminal or not, you loved him and gave Miss Quinn a bit of a beating over it."

"You know about that?"

"Who doesn't?" Xander said, indignantly.

I buried my face in my hands, my head still throbbing. The images wouldn't stop.

"Hey." A warm hand touched mine. "You're tired. You've had a rough night and it's late. C'mon," Xander said, moving behind me and helping me stand. "I'll take you home."

* * *

In the darkness of the early morning, the tortured cries echoed faintly. "Scarecrow…Scarecrow." Stepping lightly, Xander quietly approached, walking up behind the tall, masked criminal who crouched by a man on the ground. The man sobbed like a baby, covering his eyes, shaking like a leaf. "Please. Please, stop. Stop, _please_," the man cried as Scarecrow hovered over him. Xander stepped directly behind him.

"Let him be for five," she said.

Instantly, Scarecrow moved, straightening as he spun around, lifting his wrist, prepared to gas her. In a flash, Xander struck him hard in the shoulder with the butt of her sniper rifle. He grunted, lifting a hand to grasp it before she could retreat it, but hers snapped down on his wrist.

"Hands off, burlap boy," she instructed him, calmly but sternly.

He lowered his head so that he glared into her face, his cold eyes flashing red hot. "Who do you think you _are_?" he demanded.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Xander winked as she knocked aside his hand. She motioned toward the sobbing man on the ground. "So, will you allot me a few moments?"

"Did your _brother_ send you?"

Without hesitation, Xander hit him with the side of her weapon. "Don't pry," she said. "I don't trust psychiatrists, you most of all for the moment."

Scarecrow grunted, pulling off his mask to check the damage. He wiped his mouth and spotted blood on his hand. Irritated, he tossed his mask onto the man on the ground, who suddenly shrieked and threw it away from him, reduced to sobs once again. With a cold tone, Scarecrow said, "Very well, did the clown send you?"

"Even if he _tried_ to send me, I wouldn't have come on his whim."

"So you're not working for him."

"Of course not."

"You said he uses his, and I quote, 'siblings' for free labor."

"Well, he's not using me, I can _assure_ you." Xander stepped forward, moving closer to him. Scarecrow squinted at her, expecting her to attempt something. "He gave you some nasty cuts. May I?"

He chuckled darkly. "You came to nurse my wounds? That is your _only_ reason for being here."

Xander smiled mysteriously. "No, but it's my first, and foremost, reason."

He fixed her with an intent stare, his eyes unmoving. "No."

He started to turn away, stating that the conversation was over, but Xander's hand snapped out, grasping on arm, roughly turning him back. Once he had again met her steeled gaze, she said, "I _insist_." She pulled him away from his victim and pointed at an old crate. "Sit," she ordered.

Scarecrow looked at the crate, his upper lip curling at the pathetic sight of it, but when he glanced at Xander, seeing she wasn't going to give up, he sighed and sat down, grimacing.

"Don't worry about your suit," Xander told him as she set her bag down next to him. "The crate isn't going to eat it." She crouched and retrieved gauze, medical tape, and cleaning swabs.

"What do you want?" Scarecrow asked, his tone cool and professional.

"Do I _need_ a reason for bandaging up one of the clown's rivals?" She swabbed at a cut under Scarecrow's eye, and despite his attempt to keep his composure, he flinched.

"Apparently not, unless your reason is to rub the fact you aren't with him in his face." Scarecrow blinked furiously as Xander cleaned a particularly deep cut. She wiped the wound dry and then quickly applied a substitution for stitches. "You're not listening, are you?"

"I'm listening," she said, "I'm just a bit…_distracted_ by those freckles on your nose."

"You're not even-." He clamped his mouth shut, glaring at her.

"Not even what?"

"Never mind."

"Don't 'never mind' me." He looked away, and Xander purposely flicked another cut, causing him to hiss in pain and turn back. "What were you going to say?"

"I'm-."

"Don't try to avoid it. Tell me."

Scarecrow grimaced. "Fine. You weren't even looking at my nose. You're busy with cuts that aren't even that bad."

Xander scoffed. "What's up with boys trying to brave it out when they know they can't? 'Oh, it's fine. It's just a flesh wound.' _No_, damnit, your whole arm's off!" Xander raised an eyebrow at Scarecrow. "Stop trying to hide it and _grow up_. It's not like there's anyone around here to impress anyway."

Scarecrow stiffened as he clasped his hands together. His eyes lifted slightly so that they were gazing over Xander's head, as if looking into the distance. Xander noticed and paused, watching him for a few moments.

"Thinking of someone?" she asked quietly.

"Why should I tell you?" Even though he wasn't entirely there, his tone remained even and unattached. Xander pursed her lips and then proceeded to clean another deep cut, this one on his arm, not being particularly gentle. "Ah," he said, "Easy."

"You're a wimp." She smiled sweetly at him. "So, you gonna tell me, or would you rather more pain? I've always wanted to try removing a bullet or two from my targets."

He cleared his throat, and his eyes returned to gazing distantly. This time, however, he sighed and said, "There was one person I could impress."

"Was this person a chick?"

"A woman, yes." He glanced at her. "Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity," was her reply. "C'mon, Doc, don't leave me hanging."

For a moment, the corner of his lips twitched. Then, he straightened, his composure regained. "The Joker killed her."

"From what I heard, it was one of his men."

Scarecrow gave her a look. "How long were you even there?"

"Through the whole fight. You know, you kinda deserved the beating you got. You started the fight after all. _But_," she injected as he opened his mouth to protest, "But, you were angry. You discovered that one of the Joker's men killed your girlfriend, and who is responsible for his men's actions? The boss, or as you put it, the top dog."

He nodded.

Xander finished bandaging him up, packed her things, and stood. "I'm not a moral consultant. Never will be, and definitely couldn't be, even if I wanted to. But what you've done is done, and there's nothing you can do to change it."

"I don't regret it. That mad dog has it coming."

"Indeed he does, but really, it's not him you should blame." Xander lifted her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Now, for my second reason for finding you, I offer you my services."

"I don't need you," he said, grudgingly.

"You lost your right-hand, and you need a new one." Xander shrugged and went to pick up Scarecrow's mask. She dusted it off and held it up, her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized it. "Do you like potatoes?" she asked, abruptly.

"What?"

"Never mind. Off topic." She tossed the mask to him. "You know my offer. Let me know what you decide." She turned on her heel and headed back the way she came. After a moment, she called over her shoulder, "You might want to find a place somewhere to deal with your patients, doctor. You were easy to find."

"What, wait, how _did_ you find me?" he called.

She stopped and turned back. "Followed the trail of deranged idiots screaming 'Scarecrow'." She paused before turning away, raising a hand. "Later," she called behind her, disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

**Lordlink13: And so, the new character has been introduced to Shadow...again. Regardless, we'll see what happens. Read and review.**


	14. New Tenant, Old Problem

He slammed his fists down on the table, causing it to shake and his bottle to rattle violently. Angrily, he paced his room, his hands clenching and unclenching. A vein in his right temple pulsed as he grinded his teeth. He stood still for a moment, but his rage caused his body to tremble with the effort of holding it back.

"You failed, Hunter." He swirled toward the full-sized mirror in the room, spotting Peter smirking at him through the reflective glass. "You failed to kill her."

"It was dark," Hunter growled.

"As if that has ever bothered the hunter before," Peter said, tauntingly. He glanced at his nails and started picking at a bit of nonexistent dirt. "You failed, and you know it."

"I will not fail next time."

"That's what you said last time, and here you are." Peter gestured to him. "A failure even on the second try. Third time may be the charm or it could be your ruin."

Hunter turned away, flustered and annoyed. Peter made a very good point, one that Hunter was reluctant to admit; it was his second try to kill that _insufferable _woman, but he had done better this time around. He had the control; she didn't. There was only one similarity; Hunter was still terribly afraid of her.

Last time they had come face-to-face in the arcade, she could've killed him; he had barely remained a step ahead of her. When she remarkably forced back the poison and anesthetic he had injected into her, her sudden strength frightened him, but he had continued to fight her, knocking her down, handcuffing her to an arcade game and then finally hitting her in the head with a metal bat.

He closed his eyes, savoring in the memory. The whistle of the bat. His muscles straining. Her head caving with the impact. Her skull cracking audibly. The blood. Her lifeless form falling, hitting the ground, slumping against the arcade game. The exceeding ecstasy he felt at her demise…

Yet, she hadn't gone to meet her maker. She hadn't kept her appointment with Death. So close yet so far…she had _survived!_

His fist clenched, and he thrust it into the wall, his mouth twitching into a grimace as blood dripped from his knuckles. An irritated, yet pained, hiss whistled through his teeth.

Shadow. The name _revolted_ him, as much as it _scared_ him. How could she have survived his attack? Everything told him that she had died, that she was a goner, that she wouldn't be able to pull through…yet she _did_!

She definitely had _something_; she was a _witch_, a _thief_. First his Boss, confusing him and controlling him, distracting him from his real work, stealing his attention at _every_ _turn_. And now _this_! Pulling through and everything intact!

Oh, it _tormented_ him. To see her alive and well, after such a hit. To witness her living a relatively normal life, in style. To see her working for _them_. She _knew_ it was killing him; she was _taunting_ him, pretending that she wasn't still in control of the Boss, faking and claiming she had nothing to do with him. How _dare_ she side with the enemy? Is that her plan? To arrest him and put him behind bars for life so that she had the Boss for herself, for her _selfish_ self.

"She'll forever be selfish," Peter said, breaking into his thoughts. "That is, until she finally succumbs to whatever may take her."

"_I'll_ deal with her," Hunter snapped.

"Only if I give you another chance, Hunter," Peter replied, coolly.

Hunter grinded his teeth, causing his jaw to ache. He blamed the Thief – _finally_, a name for her! – for messing him up. He would have finished the job, if her new partner hadn't gotten involved.

"Now you're blaming her partner." Peter scoffed.

"Do not _mock_ me," Hunter yelled, spinning and pointing an accusing finger. "She set me up. The Thief knew. She _knew_ I was following her, and she set me up to get hurt."

"The most hurt you suffered was your ear."

Subconsciously, Hunter raised a hand to his bandaged ear. "You know what they were intending."

"It doesn't matter if I do or don't. I still decide whether or not you have another chance."

"No," Hunter said, simply. "Not this time."

Peter sneered. "How do you propose to continue existing and surviving without me, Hunter? You know you need me. You follow me, not the other way around."

"I'm trying again, and this time, without _you_ to distract me." Peter started laughing, a menacing chuckle that sent cold chills down Hunter's spine, but he grabbed the bottle off the table and chucked it at the mirror. Glass hit glass, both shattering to small sharp pieces. Hunter winced as one bit flew back in his face, leaving a scratch on his cheek, but the blood infuriated.

Peter and Hunter, the same being yet different personalities. Hunter _hated_ Peter. For months, he had only emerged to criticize him, to tell him what to do, told him what he did wrong and that it was his fault that the plan hadn't worked. Peter thrived off Hunter's negative emotions; he took advantage of Hunter's instability. Hunter hated it; Peter jumped on each of his failures, using them against him, particularly when the failure was attached to the Thief.

Hunter would change that. The Thief had an appointment with her death, and she was already later; two tries late. This time, if Hunter planned to be rid of her – which he did – he would have to make sure she met death himself, guide her all the way rather than leave her halfway.

"Hey, Hunter," Peter called. Hunter glared down at the pieces of glass on the floor, seeing Peter in all of them. "Know that you'll regret leaving me out. You'll come back, crawling and begging for me to come back, down on your hands and knees like a dog."

"No, Peter," Hunter said, with a confident sneer. "Not this time." He stepped on a large piece of glass, listening to it crack under his foot, and he walked out, head held high.

* * *

The alarm blared at its original time at five o'clock – I still hadn't changed it – but I allowed it to ring itself out. When the ringing quiet descended upon my ears, I rolled over to the nightstand and reset the alarm before lying on my back, my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling.

I still couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that I had once worked for the Joker. Xander hadn't lied, at least not that I could tell. It made sense, but at the same time, it made no sense to me. How could I have worked for a psychotic criminal like him? And if Xander's remark about falling for people you work for was pointed at me, then how could I have fallen in love with that crazy clown?

I shook my head. The latter question, I didn't want to think about. It was difficult enough to absorb learning that I had worked for the Clown Prince of Crime.

It clicked now. He made our paths cross in the asylum for a reason. He claimed he was a friend, someone who knew me better than anyone. That may be true, due to my having worked with him.

The police database has no information of what happened to me during the time I went missing. Now, I knew. That was my time with the Joker, working for him and becoming a professional criminal. Possibly, I hadn't even been an editor before then, but had been a criminal even then. If that were possible, then who had hacked into the police database to alter my info?

Again, I shook my head, pushing the question aside. It frustrated me that every time I made a connection, more questions and confusion emerged. I knew that my amnesia wasn't getting any better; bits and pieces were returning but only confused me more. If only I knew why I lost my memory.

No, I knew why. Someone had attacked me. Someone had crushed my skull, beating me with a metal bat.

I shivered and turned over onto my side, trying to force the thought out of my mind. I knew I wasn't going to sleep any time soon, but I didn't want to lie here and be tormented by visions of metal bats flying toward my head or face.

I eventually slipped into semi-consciousness, only to be aroused an hour or two later when the "adopted" Rottweiler decided I couldn't sleep in anymore. She jumped onto the bed from the end and particularly pounced on me, breathing heavily in my face. I barked the order of "get down", and she instantly obeyed, turning around and wagging her tail, waiting for me.

I groggily climbed out of bed and made my way to the kitchen, the dog following at my heels. At my order, she obediently sat, panting in wait while I retrieved a bag of dog food that I bought while I had been out with Xander. It definitely rose curious questions from Xander, but I explained it off as it was a neighbor's dog that I promised to watch for a few days. I hoped to figure out what to do with her soon, preferably today.

I fixed myself a hot chocolate, attempting to wake myself up gently. Sitting at the counter, I watched as the Rottweiler chewed away, practically chasing the bowl around the kitchen because it wasn't designated for dogs. Despite the cruel wakening, I couldn't resist smiling as Scout followed the bowl, determined to catch it.

The sight amused me, but I knew that I couldn't afford taking care of a dog, much less have the _time_ to care for the Rottweiler. It didn't matter that the dog obeyed me like I used to own her; I had to give her up to someone else, either a shelter or let her loose.

Though, neither option clicked. I had to find a place for her; she was a good dog, from what I could tell. Despite being locked up all night in the bedroom, she only destroyed two pillows, and she was definitely trained. I debated bring her to the police department to see if she could be trained as a police dog, but that, for some reason, didn't settle well with me.

The Rottweiler, once finished chasing the bowl, came and sat before me, looking up and tilting her head. I watched her, wondering if the dog was content or not. After a few moments, the dog whined and moved around the counter to sit at my feet, still looking up at me with begging eyes.

I realized she wanted to go out. "I have nothing to put you on," I told her. "No leash, no collar, not even rope, and I do not want to risk being called out on for animal abuse."

The dog lifted herself to all four paws, padded over to the door, and scratched at it.

"All right, fine," I said, abandoning my drink to change quickly. The dog barked as I reached for my shoes, to which I responded with a sharp, "Shush, Scout." She quieted but padded excitedly about the entranceway, waiting for me to put on my jacket and grab my keys.

With a quick command of "Heel", I led the way down four flights of stairs, Scout following right behind. Upon hitting the lobby, an idea struck me. Instead of heading toward the glass door, I turned and approached the landlord's place, rapping solidly on the wood.

I waited patiently until the door opened, and Mrs. Wood stood in the frame. "Morning, Mrs. Wood," I greeted politely.

"Ah, good morning," she returned. "Come in, come in."

"Actually, I have to be somewhere soon. Thought I'd drop by and say hello."

Mrs. Wood eyed me suspiciously. "That can't be the only reason why you're here, especially this early when you should have been at work hours ago."

"Oh, I changed shifts. I work at night."

"Oh dear, that must be difficult to adjust to."

"It is," I agreed. "And you're right; I do have another reason for stopping by. I have a question."

She arched an eyebrow. "Yes?" she inquired.

"How do you feel about dogs?"

Whether she knew about Scout or not, she glanced down where the dog now sat obediently at my feet. "Is this a police dog?" she asked.

"No, just one who followed me home last night."

"Bring it to a shelter if you don't want it."

"That's not where I want the dog."

Mrs. Wood looked at me, narrowing her eyes. "If you want to keep it, keep it."

"I can't. Don't have the money-."

"You have a job."

"Or the _time_, Mrs. Wood." I glanced at Scout and explained, "This type of dog needs attention and time, lots of exercise and such, and with the night shift, I'm going to be sleeping most of the day. I can't take care of this dog, no matter how much I want to keep her."

Mrs. Wood's eyes bore into me, as if scrutinizing for some clue as to what I was implying. Due to the fact that Scout started whining, I quickly said, "Do you think you could contact Mr. Bleak and leave him a message from me?"

"Why, of course. You simply had to ask, Jane." She laughed softly. "Mind you, there's no guarantee that he'll answer any time soon, but if it has to do with the dog, you can keep the dog here or in your apartment for the time being."

"But he does respond, correct?"

"Yes, when he has time."

I nodded. "Good enough for me." Mrs. Wood waited expectantly. "Just tell him I need his advice of what to do about this dog, tell him my predicament."

She bowed her head. "I will do that. Have a good day." She rubbed the Rottweiler's head and then stepped back, closing her door.

The Rottweiler staggered me. I walked calmly without any fear of the dog running off, even though that would have probably made my life easier. Scout remained by my side, matching my speed and keeping pace, without falling behind or moving ahead. She copied my stop-and-go at each of the crosswalks so I didn't have to worry about her getting hit by a car either. I smiled, enjoying the control, despite not understanding why the dog obeyed me.

We reached Hyde Park, a fairly good-sized park with plenty of space to run and play, especially for kids and dogs. With an abundance of trees, children had climbing objects besides the playground. Scout started moving forward so she could pause and watch the children yelled at one another while they played. I smirked at the sight of the dog perking her ears so she could listen.

A few kids noticed her and raced over, commenting on what a cute or cool dog I had and asking whether or not they could pet her. Ordering Scout to sit, I allowed the kids close, watching the Rottweiler closely as she greedily licked their hands and nudged their arms as they scratched her head and back.

I remained there, waiting for the kids to disperse before I called Scout to my side. She padded alongside me, lolling out her tongue and looking around curiously.

As we neared some benches along one path, Scout stopped, perking up her eyes and lifting her nose to the air. After a moment, she barked and shot forward. "Scout!" I yelled, but the dog ignored me, charging in the direction of a lone man sitting on a bench.

He lifted his head as the dog raced toward him, barking excitedly. A smile stretched across his face as he held out his hands. Scout buried her head into them, her tail wagging violently, trying to jump into his face to lick him. With a stern command, she sat between his legs, closing her eyes as he scratched her ears.

I followed after her at a slower pace, observing the man. He appeared to be in his middle twenties, still young as some men do, with a sharp jaw and neat black hair. Bangs fell over his eyes, blocking them from my view, but as I advanced, gradually I could make out his nose, that even from an angle looked as though it had been broken and hadn't healed over in the correct alignment. He wrestled the Rottweiler to the ground, scratching away at her exposed chest when I finally stood close enough for him to notice me.

He raised his face slightly, staring at me through his bangs, as if shy of speaking to a human being. However, when he spoke, his voice was gentle and confident, even rich. "I suppose you're the one who found Scout here," he said.

"I found her, and she followed me home." I motioned to the dog.

"Thanks for finding her." He bowed his head over the Rottweiler, and I pulled out my badge from my jacket pocket. Clearing my throat caused him to look up, to which he smiled sheepishly. "She was stolen last night," he explained.

"And you didn't have time to tack up missing posters?" I asked, suspiciously.

"She's run off a few times before, always comes back by the next day. If she hadn't gotten back until this evening, then I would have notified the city." He flipped his head, in an attempt to move his bangs, but failed. "Where'd you find her?"

"Who stole her?"

"You sound like you're accusing me of stealing my own dog or something."

"I don't want to influence your answer by giving any details I know."

He chuckled. "Good point. Some woman dressed up in what might have been either a clown or a jester sort of costume. You know, with this long ear things." He used his hands to imitate the "ear things".

I nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Well, glad I could return your dog, mister…?"

He lifted himself from the bench and faced me, brushing his bangs out of his face with a hand, revealing his intelligent brown eyes. Holding out his hand, he introduced himself. "Ron Bleak. And you wanted to ask me to take care of the dog, to which you have no need to worry."

I stammered like an idiot for a few moments before I finally managed to place my hand in his, gripping him tightly as we shook. Even as our hands released, I still couldn't speak, unable to comprehend past my confusion and shock.

"I apologize for startling you, Detective McKinley," he said, gently. "I tried to think of different ways of introducing myself, but I've never been that creative." Scout barked by his side, and he laid a hand on her head, scratching an ear. "Your landlady passed along your message, and rather than use text or phone call, I decided it'd be best if we met in person, first time around, at least."

"Did you order this dog to follow me home so that you had an excuse to meet up with me?" I blurted out before I gave myself a second to think.

"Oh no, nothing like that. It sort of worked out that way. My dog ran off, and I needed to get her back. It was merely coincidence she followed you home."

"I don't believe in coincidence," I told him, deep down wondering if I did or not. "Things happen for a reason. Particularly the fact that this dog obeys my orders to the letter. How can I have such control over a dog if it's not mine?"

"That's a good question, and here's your answer. She's your dog."

Taken aback, I took a moment to take this in. "So, she _was_ my dog."

"No, she still is. You're her primary master, well, that is her _secondary_ one for the time being." Scout padded over to me and bumped playfully into my legs. "If I had to guess, I'd say she recognized your scent and followed you home because she missed you. You've been gone…seven, eight months?"

I bit my lower lip. He was referring to my past, prior to my treatment in the asylum, a period in my life that I knew hardly anything about. I couldn't remember a single thing from that time.

As the worry began growing, I realized that Mr. Bleak knew about my situation. He had contributed money for whatever I needed in Arkham, some new kind of technology, and he paid rent for a place that I didn't own, or at least set me up there.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for me to respond.

"Yeah, seven or eight months sounds right," I said. I hoped that he wouldn't notice the uncertainty that resided in my tone.

"We met here, at this very bench," Mr. Bleak said, looking around. I narrowed my eyes, waiting for a dreamy look to appear in his face, but thankfully, none came. "Actually, it was the second time meeting."

"Where was the first?" I didn't know whether or not to take his word for it, but it didn't hurt to be curious and retrieve the details.

"A bar, the Stacked Deck. We played poker."

"I don't drink."

"I didn't say you did." He smiled, a gentle one. "You don't remember even that far." He wasn't asking; he was making a statement.

"I never said that," I told him, in an attempt to defend myself.

"You didn't have to. The way you hold yourself, your demeanor." He shook his head. "I understand. I know what you're going through." He reached down and rubbed the Rottweiler's head. "Come, Scout. Your fellows miss you."

"More dogs?"

"Playmates." He bowed his head. "Good day to you, Detective." He clicked his tongue and started walking, with Scout padding by his side.

"Dean!" He stopped and turned back, looking at me confused. "Sorry, I meant Ron, if you don't mind me using your first name."

"No, it's fine," he said, his face unreadable.

"How can I contact you?" I asked. "Or should I continue to pester Mrs. Wood?'

"Ah." He returned, rummaging through his pocket for something. He pulled out a pad of paper and pen, to which he pulled off the cap with his teeth and scribbled on the small paper. With a smooth rip, he handed over the piece of paper, putting the cap back on the pen. "My number," he explained. "Text me, and I'll call back when I can."

"When you can?" I asked, slipping the paper into my pocket.

He smirked. "I got back to you quickly, did I?" After a moment, I reluctantly nodded. He turned away again and moved with Scout.

I watched him until he had crossed to the other side of the park. When he opened the backdoor to a Toyota Corolla, I started my walk closer. Scout jumped into the backseat, and Ron Bleak stepped into the driver's seat. I hurried closer, trying not to catch his attention. He pulled out of the parallel parking spot, and I caught a glimpse of his license plate, converting it to memory.

When I returned to the apartment building, Mrs. Wood caught me as I started up the stairs. "Oh, Jane, seems like you managed to arrange something for the dog." I nodded. "That's good. I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"Anything you need, as long as it's legal."

Mrs. Wood patted my arm affectionately, chuckling. "Of course, dear. There's a new tenant who came in this morning, maybe ten minutes after you left. I wondered if you would mind helping her settle in, help with unpacking and such."

"Are you setting me up to make friends, Mrs. Wood?"

"No, dear, of course _not_." She continued to laugh as she pressed something cold into my hand and then hurriedly hobbled back to her door.

"Wait, what apartment?" I called after her.

"Third floor, apartment 327," she answered before she disappeared into her apartment.

I glanced at my hand, seeing a key. Rolling my eyes, I headed up to the third floor. I knocked first, deciding to give the new tenant a chance before I unlocked the door. After four tries, still no one came.

I felt like I was intruding, but I figured if she wasn't there, I'd come back later. Upon opening the door, I noticed that the apartment had an entranceway similar to mine. I spotted a jacket hanging on the coat hooks; the tenant was home. Stepping in farther, the apartment had a very similar arrangement as mine, except for the colors and the fact that the setup was turned in way of the living room and kitchen. My kitchen was on the right, whereas this new tenant's place was on the left.

Stepping into the living room, I noticed a few tubs, many boxes, a suitcase, and a duffel bag in a pile up against the counter. Then, I spotted the new tenant on the couch, lying on her stomach, with a blanket over her, an arm hanging over the edge. I recognized her as Xander, to which I smiled and shook my head in disbelief. What were the chances?

Xander didn't react when I shook my head, trying to be nice as I probed her. I tried everything short of yelling or beating her or even pouring water on her. Finally, I gave in and tugged her pillow out from under her head.

The violent awakening caused a violent reaction. Xander's eyes snapped open as she lunged herself off the couch, snatching a pistol from where her pillow had been. Reacting swiftly, I knocked the weapon out of her hand and then dived for the bar, snatching the gun off the ground and aiming at her.

"Don't move, Xander," I ordered. "It's me. McKinley."

She looked at me, her eyes burning holes into me. She had a wild look in them, like she wasn't looking at me but at someone she thought was a threat. She stood stiff, unmoving, simply waiting for me to move, to give her a reason to jump. Suddenly, it hit me.

"Hey, sorry for waking you like that. You're okay. Look, I'm putting the gun down." I moved slowly, placing the gun on the bar and holding my hands up, showing her that I was unarmed.

Xander didn't move for another minute or two. I could hear her labored breathing from across the room and wondered if there was anything I could do to snap her out of survival mode. I didn't want to risk it; I didn't trust myself to move, for fear that it would cause Xander to either hurt me or hurt herself.

Eventually, she started blinking quite rapidly, like she had kept her eyes open and unmoving for too long. She began moving, raising her hands to her head and shaking it, as if clearing her mind, as she sat down, bowing herself over her crossed legs. She sat like this for a few minutes. Slowly, I lowered myself to the ground and waited for her to move.

After few minutes, she finally did. She lifted herself without a word, raising from the floor and heading into the kitchen. I stood up as well, watching her closely as she moved about, preparing coffee, but as I watched, I realized it was no ordinary coffee. It was one part coffee, one part rum, and one part milk and sugar.

"Isn't it a bit early?"

Xander grinned, but quickly the grin turned into a grimace. "As I always say, it's five o'clock somewhere," she said, taking a sip from the "coffee". I approached the bar, but she lifted a finger. "Nuh-uh, I'm not happy with you."

I sighed. "Great…"

"Excuse me?" Xander's eyes flashed. "You _obviously_ don't know how to wake up someone with PTSD. I would have _killed_ you."

"Well, that would solve many issues."

"Oh, _shut_ up." She swallowed a gulp and glanced out the window in the living room. "Who let you in? Or did you pick the lock?"

"Mrs. Wood gave me the key."

After another gulp, Xander gave me a look, and then scoffed. "That crazy old woman. Gives _you_, of all people, the key to _my_ apartment. To do what? Run off with my artillery?"

"_Well_," I drolled. "The police department could use a change in its weapons." Xander, with her index finger and thumb, mimicked shooting me. "Sorry, but I enjoy living."

"Good," she snapped and returned to her coffee. "Why did she send you?"

"She told me to be a good neighbor and help you unpack. I think she's discreetly telling me that I need to make friends."

"Well, friends outside the law give you more of a view of the world." She swallowed a mouthful and added, "By the way, setting an alarm on your watch or something would have woken me _gently_."

"You done being mad?"

"No, but that doesn't stop me from telling you." After a moment, Xander leaned against the bar and motioned me closer.

"You're not going to hit me, are you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

"That's a _good_ idea." I gave her a look. "No, I was going to tell you that you have a chance of _redeeming_ yourself if you buy me…" She glanced at her watch. "Lunch and an early dinner."

"Redeem myself?" I arched an eyebrow.

"With your _rude_ awakening, I've only slept maybe two hours, _max_. I'm tired. And you woke me up when I should be sleeping."

"Have you been up all night?"

"Mhm, was working last night, like usual."

I smirked. "Will I find out about it tonight when I go to work?"

"No. I was helping…a friend." I opened my mouth to ask further, but Xander snapped her fingers at me, since she had a mouthful of coffee to swallow. "If I tell you any more details, I'll have to kill you."

"Don't steal movie quotes." She stuck her tongue out at me and returned to her coffee. Once she finished it, she went to the entranceway, snatching her jacket. She shook it, hearing a jingle from her pocket, ensuring her keys were there. "C'mon, you pain in my ass. I'm hungry and haven't eaten anything for _hours_."

I grinned and followed her out of her apartment.

* * *

**Lordlink13: And here I bestow upon you all the fourteen chapter of the book of Shadow's City, where, if you remember, Bleak is Dean, Dean is Dean Ledger, who art the Joker's half-brother, yo - and now, Xander is Alexandra, who is Alexandra Eccleston, who art the Joker's sister. Why the hell is the Joker's mother a freakin' whore, but who loveth her children-eth. Who cares really? Different fathers, same mother, whatever. They're siblings. Someone should start screaming, "Deans, Xanders, and Jokers, oh my!" Please review. Thank you, this has been a public service announcement. Have a great day.**


	15. Death Trap

At ten, on the dot, I stepped into the MCU, heading in toward Gordon's office through the main area. Wearily, I stopped at the coffee maker, brewing up some for myself. While I waited for it, I heard a trio of cops sitting around, chatting over a couple donuts. One name came up, catching my attention.

"Dr. Quinzel?" a cop asked. "The woman doctor who was supposed to cure the Joker?"

"Cure the Joker?" a second man said. "Not possible."

"That's what I thought," the third commented. "He's like a disease. She caught him, and has lost her mind over him."

"Like we need another psychotic running around on the streets," the first grumpily said, sipping at his coffee.

"Now, we've got both psychopaths running around since the Joker's out."

My blood ran cold. The coffee maker's light turned off, and I busied myself with pouring a cup. After a second thought, I made another one, attempting to keep myself busy.

The Joker had _escaped_?

With two cups of coffee, I headed again toward Gordon's office, a thought brewing in my mind. I knocked on the doorframe, announcing my presence. He lifted a finger and finished scribbling on a report. Finally, he dropped the pen, clasped his hands, and raised his head.

"I thought you'd appreciate some," I told him as I stepped forward and placed a cup on his desk. He murmured a meek thanks and sipped the hot liquid.

"Are you attempting to butter me up for something?" he asked, "Because it's not going to get you out of paperwork."

"No, I realize that's my punishment, and I plan to serve my time." I grimaced. "But I thought I'd ask for request papers."

"Request papers? For what case you'd like to take next?"

"Yes," I responded.

"McKinley," he sighed, pitching the bridge of his nose. "I haven't even gotten that far."

"I know, you have time to consider what I'm requesting." He heaved another sigh and gestured for me to continue as he sipped at his coffee. "I'd like to request being assigned to the Joker's case."

Gordon spurted, spitting coffee all over his desk, including the reports, but luckily, they had plastic covers, sparing them the damage. "What?"

"I want to nail the bastard."

"McKinley, we can't-."

"I understand. It's not right under the circumstances. I used to work for him so if I were assigned to his case, I might be tempted to either act as a double agent or return to being a criminal." I tried to keep myself in check as I said, "But understanding the Joker, I'd be able to annihilate him." I coughed and quickly corrected myself. "I mean, cuff him, Commissioner."

He pulled off his glasses, pitching the bridge of his nose again. "No," he said.

I bowed my head, politely. "I only ask you to think about it." With that, I left.

Since I didn't know what to do, I headed back into the main area, figuring I might catch up more if I eavesdropped. I didn't get far when Jason popped out of his office, directly in front of me. Since I was still in the middle of a step, and couldn't stop, I ended up walking straight into him, and, to my twisted joy, stepped on his foot.

Jason swore as he stepped back into his office. I hurried past, hoping he wouldn't notice me, but he called my name. "Hey, Jane, can I talk to you?"

"I don't know, _can_ you?" I asked smartly, turning halfway rather than give him my full attention.

Jason leaned inside the doorway, watching me with a stoical expression, except his eyes revealed the hurt, to which I gave no reaction. "I wanted to apologize."

"You can't apologize unless you know what you did."

He bowed his head for a moment, and I started away, until he called my name again, causing me to turn back. "Listen, I realize I've been on your nerves recently, and I wanted to apologize for my bad conduct."

"No point apologizing unless you mean it."

"Jane," he said, sharply. "Please, give me a chance." I bit down on my tongue to keep myself from making a snide comment and waved my hand, gesturing for him to say what he had to. "I'd like to make it up to you."

I rolled my eyes, heaving an exasperated sigh, but he caught it and gave me a look. "Well?" I demanded. "How _would_ you make it up to me?"

"Dinner?" he asked.

Struggling to keep my composure, I said, "I'll think about it."

"All I'm asking if for you to-."

"To what?" a gruff voice demanded, and I inwardly sighed with relief. Jason narrowed his eyes at Bullock who approached behind me. "You have paperwork for McKinley to do because she's not doing any for you until she's done with mine and the Commissioner's."

"That wasn't what I was asking," Jason growled.

"Well, what was it? Come on, spit it out."

"None of your business, Bullock."

"Seeing as I'm in charge of making sure McKinley does the paperwork, whatever stalls her _is_ my business to know." He looked directly at me and said, "Get on with it, McKinley. My office, you've got a surface to work on." When I didn't move fast enough, he barked, "Move, _now_."

When he arrived at his office, I had already began working on the heap of paperwork, but I looked up long enough to thank him for the rescue, to which he merely shrugged, collapsed in his chair, leaned back, and shoved a donut into his mouth.

I worked painstakingly for hours, taking breaks here and there. To keep myself awake, I walked around for five minutes, to get circulation flowing again and to retrieve some food or coffee. The other detectives were in and out, stopping by to chat with me to provide me with a break from my tedious, single-minded work. Otherwise, cops dropped in to give me more paperwork to check and forge, with Bullock's permission, Bullock's signature.

Reason behind that is because after awhile, Bullock grew tired of having to check over my work, realizing that I hadn't made any mistakes for some time. He argued that if I could forge his name, I should, and as much as I didn't want to risk getting into trouble, I didn't want him on my back for every little error I missed. I already made it a habit to read over the same report twice, after an interval of nine other reports, to ensure I got everything correct.

The paperwork gave me enough to think about so any troubling thoughts I would've had were forced into the back of my mind with the constant pressure of work.

Of course, even with all the breaks I took to refresh my mind and such, with the fact that I was running on two, maybe three hours of sleep in the past thirty-six, was getting to me.

Hitting near three in the morning, I set my pen down and rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. I clasped them together and pressed my mouth into my thumbs, looking ahead but with my vision unfocused, giving my eyes a short rest. They stung from staring so hard at the paper, and I allowed them to tear up, hoping to relieve the burning. When they overflowed, I grabbed a tissue and patted them dry.

"I'd cry over that amount of paperwork too," a cool, calm voice said.

"I wasn't crying. My eyes hurt."

"Don't stare so hard then."

I clasped my hands again and rested my forehead on them. "Do you want something, Nash?"

I heard him shift in the doorway, and then his footsteps as he approached my working table. "I need a partner," he said.

"I can't leave." I raised my head, placing my chin on my hands, looking up at him. "I'm being _punished_."

"No one's here to come with me, and I asked Gordon for permission."

"Did he give it?" I waited, hope blooming in my chest. Nash nodded and smiled. "What convinced him?" I asked as I stood up, abandoning my paperwork and snatching my jacket.

"The amount of work you finished," he said, taking my jacket from my hands and holding it for me as I slipped my arms in. "You're a hard worker, so he gave me permission to take you out until the end of your shift."

I arched an eyebrow. "Just like walking a dog?"

Nash smiled. "Just like walking a dog."

"So, where are we headed?" I asked as we climbed into his blue Sedan.

"You'll see," he said mysteriously.

In the end, I faked curiosity because once we arrived, I instantly recognized the Iceberg Lounge. As much as I trusted Nash, I didn't want to risk arousing his suspicions if I slipped up and revealed that I had been to the Penguin's lair before. Yet Nash still asked the question, nearly causing me to have a heart attack.

"Have you been here before?" he asked, curiously.

"Not…that I know of." I felt his eyes on me, watching as if to see if I would give myself away, but I simply looked up at the Lounge, squinting at it, pretending to scrutinize the detail of the place. "This is the Penguin's place," I said, sounding casual. "We arresting him?"

"No, we come down here every once in awhile to remind him that he had better stick to his good business and to avoid the temptation of falling off the ladder." Nash smirked and opened the door leading inside. "After you, McKinley."

The Lounge was quiet, not in the sense that there was no noise because in the air could be heard: the chatter of gamers, the crack of balls against one another on the Pool Table, the snapping of cards, the orchestra that still played in the background. No, the place was nearly empty, only a small handful of men, playing Pool or poker. I didn't bother counting the ones playing the music or the ones who lined the room, evenly spaced, wearing bowler hats.

"Those," Nash said, pointing to the bowler men, "Are the security of the place, also the Penguin's thugs. Don't do anything to alarm them."

"And you're telling me this, why?"

"Because I'm collecting information through chatting. I want to see how you do with observing."

"Is this a test?"

Nash shrugged and then nodded. "I guess you can call it that. At some point, your 'punishment' will be over, and you'll be assigned to a case. Just keeping your skills in tip-top shape." He clapped my shoulder with a smile and then made his way to the bar where Cobblepot awaited.

"More like debate upon whether or not to request me as your 'junior' partner," I murmured, bitterly. I looked around and realized I had already attracted attention, due to my being the only female in the Lounge.

At first, I didn't know what to do. I debated following Nash, but he left me with a challenge, to observe. Observing sometimes included talking and playing along. I glanced at the three men playing poker and wondered if I would remember how to play. Of course, that all depended on if Mr. Bleak was correct and hadn't lied to me.

Taking a deep breath, I headed over, catching their attention as I drew closer. "Hi, boys," I said in the most confident voice I could manage, "Mind if I join you?"

"You a cop?" one asked, watching me suspiciously while he lit a cigarette.

"Don't trust them. Why?"

He dropped his gaze and shrugged. "Got money?"

After checking the pot, I pulled out what I had, tossing a few bills into the center. The second man began dealing cards, sending a hand my way. "Yah know the rules?" he asked.

"Of course she does," the one snapped, grumpily. "She tossed in money. If she's not a good player, she's losing what she threw in and more."

The other two sent me looks, but I merely shrugged and ignored them, asking if they were ready to play.

I lost a few of the games but gradually what could have been my past talent returned, and I began winning my money back, and more. The poker player who had acted hostile toward me didn't like it and tried claiming that I had been cheating, and eventually, he stood up, threw down his cards, and stormed over an empty pool table.

"I'm done for the night," another said, tossing his cards in and following in the wake of the first. The last player gathered all the abandoned cards, shuffled them once, and set them down, standing and with a parting nod to me, left the Lounge.

I snatched the deck and leaned back in my chair, absentmindedly shuffling the cards. I had successfully managed to bring back a past talent, but like everything else, it only awakened more questions. Was I gambler? Was I an addict? Could I perform magic with cards? The last question was more for fun than to actually get answered, but I entertained the thought.

After awhile, I bent my head back, my neck aching, to look at Nash and Cobblepot. From what I could see, they were well into the conversation, their heads bowed close together. I straightened and half-turned in my seat, deck still in hand. Just then, Nash looked over in my direction and then motioned me toward him as he said something to Cobblepot.

Warily, I set the cards down and walked over, but he pushed himself away from the bar and met me halfway. "You've been observing?" he asked.

"As much as my mind can take," I told him.

He smiled. "Good. Why don't you go take a breather outside? It feels hot in here."

"Really? I never noticed it."

"Regardless, get some fresh air. Something to free your mind of being stuck in one building or another." I hesitated, wondering for the first time if Nash was actually a dirty cop, and he was asking me to leave so he could complete some transaction with Cobblepot. Nash watched me and motioned for me to go. "One, two minutes, McKinley. With how much smoke that man was blowing in your direction, I'm surprised you don't have lung cancer."

I faked a cough. "Guess again," I said, and he chuckled.

As I stepped out, I noticed the change in the air and inhaled deeply the smoke-free oxygen. It was refreshing to be outside. Nash was right; I had been inside all night, and this early in the morning, the breeze felt cool, blowing lightly in my face. I closed my eyes, simply enjoying the feel of it, which was a stupid thing for me to do. Of course, I didn't know until someone had come up behind me, grabbing me and covering my mouth and nose with a handkerchief.

"Excuse me, but does this smell like Chloroform to you?" a man whispered into my ear as I breathed it in with a gasp. It took over quickly, knocking me unconscious.

Movement awoke me, as well as tightness around my legs and wrists. Unable to open my eyes, I realized a blindfold had been wrapped around my head. From the uncomfortable flooring, the rumbling of an engine, and the constant bouncing movement, I deducted that I had been locked into the back of a van, tied up and possibly I was being kidnapped.

"If this kidnapping thing is going to become a weekly thing, I think it might be time to move away," I muttered to myself.

Abruptly, I heard static and then a voice speaking. "Already talking to yourself, Detective?" The voice sounded robotic, most likely deeper than it actually was.

"You afraid that I will recognize your voice?" I asked in reply.

The static volume altered from high to low, and then the voice spoke again, this time less deeper, but still sounding robotic. "I've never found a voice frequency I liked."

"Then try no frequency and simply talk to me with your natural voice."

Whoever it was, most likely a male, chuckled on the other end. Through the voice frequency, the laugh sounded menacing, but to some degree, comical. "I'm too intelligent to fall for that, Detective. No, instead, I have a present for you, except you have to work for it."

"Oh joy," I mumbled.

"It'll be fun, and I _know_ you'll enjoy it." For a moment, I wondered if he had used the seductive voice for the game he was going to put me through or was it pointed at me.

"Wait, who are you?" I asked, figuring it wouldn't kill me to ask.

"You've heard of me. I _love_ games." Again, with the seductive voice. "I'll give you one guess."

"The Riddler."

"Ah, so you do have intelligence, little detective. Of course, I _knew_ that, but I wanted to see if it would come out of its hiding place inside your mind."

"Like that's not creepy or anything." I struggled to sit up, shifting myself over to the wall of the van and using it as I pushed with my legs. Once I managed a sitting position, I heaved a sigh of relief and then began working to stand up.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the Riddler told me through his robotic voice. "We _are_ in a moving van."

"_I_ am, but Captain Obvious isn't," I snapped, furious. "He's hiding away like a _coward_, even though he could probably have his face on the screen and since I'm blindfolded, I can't _see_ anyway."

In response, the Riddler cleared his throat, as if attempting to keep himself from acting insulted. "The game, Detective, is simple. You have…ten minutes to answer each of my riddles."

"Or what?" I asked.

"Or you'll come to an interestingly watery end." I sighed. "Are you willing to play? Of course you are. Ten riddles, ten minutes, you do the math. Find the four digit number in which the first digit is one fourth of the last digit, the second digit is six times the first digit, and the third digit is the second digit plus three."

I shook my head and mouthed the word, _what?_

"Time is _ticking_, Detective," the Riddler reminded me.

I heaved a sigh while I tried to recall the riddle in my head. The answer had to reside in the riddle. Find the four digit number in which _the first digit is one fourth of the last digit_. Assuming the first digit was one and the last was four, _the second digit is six times the first digit_, which resulted in the second number _being_ six, and _the third digit is the second digit plus three_, meaning six plus three, making nine. "1694," I said.

"Correct. Very good, Detective. You know your math. Let's see if you know your grammar. What is one thing that all wise men, regardless of their religion or politics, agree is between heaven and earth?"

I scoffed. "Are you sure it's not philosophy?"

"Think, Detective."

"I _am_ thinking," I snapped. This time, he didn't respond, only exhaled loudly. He had already given me his hint, grammar. So, it had to be the structure of the riddle. What was between heaven and earth? Oh…ah ha. "And."

"Is that your final answer?" the Riddler asked.

"What do you think, genius?" I said irritably.

"Hm, maybe this one will keep you busy. A very vicious dog is tied to a tree. If you came close enough you'd lose your head. If he sees you he'll follow your every step. Your basketball rolls past the dog. If you are alone, how do you get your ball back with out being mutilated?"

I couldn't help it; I started laughing. "That's a good one. Let me see. Dog tied to a tree. Simply walk around the tree until the dog has no more leash and then grab the ball."

For a moment, the Riddler didn't speak, but when he did, he was obviously annoyed. "You only have five minutes."

"I'm pretty sure there's more."

"You lost time."

I bit my lip, realizing that angering him wasn't going to get me ahead in the game. In fact, losing time hurt me more than it should, because if my guess was right, his planned 'watery end' will probably have me in the van, drowning in a river. "I'll be good."

The Riddler scoffed. "We will see." He began throwing the riddles at me, giving me a few seconds to store it in my memory before he started the next riddle. After five of them, leaving me with two unknown, he fell silent, merely waiting on me. Forcing myself to remain calm and to think, I answered the following riddles:

When does death come before life?

I am so fragile that even the sound of your voice can break me. What am I?

There are four brothers: One of them can run but never wearies; one of them can eat but never gets full; one of them can drink but never quenches its thirst; one of them can sing any type of song. Who are these brothers?

If there were eight dogs, twenty people, thirty four chickens, and they were riding a truck how many feet are there?

A man rode out of town on Sunday. He stayed a whole night at a hotel and rode back to town the next day on Sunday. How is this possible?

"Fine work, Detective, but you have a minute left. During the day, it has your shape. It has the color black; it never talks; it never cries; it stays with you throughout your life. What is it?"

I hesitated, wondering if the Riddler had reached his breaking point and was trying to confuse me to the point that I would fail. I tried not to let it bother me, and said confidently, "A shadow."

"You've _got_ it!" he announced, and another sound came through the screen, my guess was that it was clapping.

"What about the last one?"

"Ah, yes, less than a minute. What is your ability?"

"Excuse me?" I couldn't believe it.

"You know what I mean, Detective."

"That's not a riddle," I protested.

"Riddles can be questions," he replied, smartly, "Now…_answer_ it."

"I don't know!" The panic I had so far held back suddenly surged forward, freezing up my thoughts. If I didn't already have my eyes closed underneath the blindfold, I would have shut them. "I don't even know how to _use_ it."

"You might want to figure that out because that watery end is waiting for you." There was an audible _click_, and the static fell silent.

The engine whined as it shifted gears, speeding up. I struggled to keep myself under control and fighting off the urge to scream or panic; instead I focused on my surroundings, noticing every bump the wheels hit, big and small. Then, the van lurched as it crashed into a solid barrier, throwing me forward and into the separating wall.

The van drove off the road and went into free-fall, causing a gravity shift. I hit the van's backdoors hard, bruising my back and shoulders. My stomach in my throat, I stopped breathing as the van hit the water like hitting cement. The collision threw me down into the separating wall.

In my head, I panicked but struggled for control. My body shook violently as I attempted slipping my legs between my tied arms. Aching pains shot through me, but I kept trying, needing to get my hands in front of me so I could take the blindfold off.

Around me, the van groaned under the enveloping pressure of the water. I cried out as I jarred my arms, but my legs slipped through. I instantly reached for the blindfold, painfully pulling it over my head.

It was dark in the van, which didn't surprise me, but the constant groaning of the vehicle frightened me. I felt around with my tied hands, hoping to find something sharp to cut myself free with, but instead, my fingertips met wetness that seeped through the separating wall and soon the backdoors.

I forced myself to continue feeling around, hoping strongly that something sharp would appear, and as I searched, the Riddler's last question popped into my mind: _What is your ability?_

I tried to push it away, but it kept bugging me, even as I found a relatively sharp metal piece in the side. Trying to work through my bounds on my wrists, I allowed the question to keep me focused, keeping me from panicking. _What is your ability?_

I remembered a mention of my having a strange ability, from Arkham. Dr. Young had said something about it. As painful as remembering her was, I had to think and bring back what she had said. Dredging my memories of that dreadful place, I cut away my wrist bounds to work on my legs.

Unexpectedly, a fluorescent light filled the back of the van, and I closed my eyes against it before forcing them open again. I glanced over and spotted the screen that the Riddler had been using to speak to me. Instead of a face of him, like I expected, a green three-dimensional question mark spun on the screen. "Oh, I forgot to mention," he said and then added in a sarcastic tone, "I know, bad time isn't it" when he saw my expression. "But this screen has a detector in it, one I designed specially for this situation. You see, once the van is completely filled with water, it will detect it and send a thousand volts of electricity through the vehicle."

"You're _kidding_ me," I exclaimed, working hard at the bounds on my legs. "You're going to electrify the _entire_ river!"

"I don't care much for the fishies," he said, seriously. "So, it's an ultimate death trap, unless you use your ability." He chuckled darkly. "See, I always give my victims a way out. It's just a matter of them finding out what it _is_."

My leg bounds snapped. "But you've told me what it is."

"Not exactly. I said use your ability. You don't know _what_ your ability is, or so you claim."

"I don't _know_ it," I yelled.

"Then I guess this is farewell. Farewell, Detective McKinley." The screen flickered off.

I shook my head but suddenly flinched as I felt the water seeping in faster. On the verge of panicking again, I dove into my memories of Arkham, dredged through them like filing through criminals' records.

Wait, _files_. I dredged for the memory of when Dr. Young had shown me my records. If I remembered correctly, I had asked what my ability was because her contributor Mr. Bleak had a strong opinion of how they were handling the possibility of me using it. What was her answer?

I tried to picture the scene, Dr. Young's office, the doctor herself, and me in the opposite chair, my manila folder resting on the desk before me. What did she say?

_You have a certain talent with shadows._

Shadows! How could I not have deduced that from my criminal name? And the Riddler said the only way out was using my ability, my ability with shadows.

One problem: I didn't know how to use it.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I realized that while I was thinking, water had quickened in filling the back. With the van completely vertical, I sat on the separating wall, and its edges were crumbling under the pressure, allowing more water in. One corner gave out completely, and water poured in.

I stood up slowly, pressing my hands against what would be the bottom and ceiling of the van, grimacing as the vehicle groaned loudly under my weight. I inhaled and exhaled, keeping my breathing even if not calm.

I had to use my ability and soon, but how did I use it? I glared at the slowly rising water, my eyesight having adjusted to the dark enough to see movement. What did I have to do? Stay calm. Did I need a specific state of mind? Well, mine was near to panic-mode.

I rested my head against the ceiling, exhaling deeply through my nose. This ability of mine, it must have been activated easily enough. As far as I could tell, the other criminals, at least the Joker and the Riddler, knew about my ability, and I must have had a firm control over it. If only I could remember how to at least _summon_ it.

The water reached my knees. The struggle to retain control became harder, and I felt it difficult to breathe. Panic seeped through me, gradually locking my body in place. My mind sprinted in several directions, but mainly focusing on the fact that the water was constantly rising and once the van was filled, I would be electrocuted to death.

In my mental panic, the water slipped up my thighs, touching my waist. Underneath my feet, the separating wall creaked and then crumbled upward, forcing water through faster. It jumped from my waist to my shoulders in seconds, and only a few more seconds, my head would be covered.

With the realization that I had only seconds left, I found myself closing my eyes and taking in my last breath before forcing myself under the water.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Oh no! Shadow's in a van! Oh no! It drives into the river! Oh no! It will electrify her if she doesn't get out before it fills completely with water! Oh no! She goes under the water and...CLIFFHANGER! Read and review.**


	16. Visitation

**Lordlink13: My beta reader has put you out of your misery; she forced me to post this chapter. I wanted to wait another week. So, thank her for her mercy. I want my _justice_!**

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Engulfed, surrounded by darkness. Water rushed into my nose. The walls creaked on all sides. The water level rose and rose. Time slowed. Water neared the top. I waited. My eyes closed. My lungs already burned. Water almost reached the van's backdoors. Seconds ticked by. Water always rising. My heart pounded away. I waited forever. Time felt like forever. Electricity would flow soon. Water rose and rose and rose.

It should have hit the top by now. It should have touched it. For a fleeting second, an image of the road the van drove on flashed through my otherwise panicked mind. Only for a second. A second too long. A second that brought a chilling sensation coursing through my body.

When the second passed, I knew I was dead.

Or was I?

I dared to open my eyes. When I did, I didn't see the dark water. I didn't see the van; I didn't see the screen. I saw the early morning sky, filled with gray clouds, barely any light coming over the horizon. What?

My lungs burned, and I gasped, finally supplying air. As oxygen rushed through my airways, my body rejected the water that had managed its way into my lungs. I rolled to my side, heaving and coughing up the liquid, gasping and whimpering with the pain smearing through my chest and throat.

When my lungs had cleared themselves, I sat up, rubbing my chest in hopes of easing the pain. As I did that, I looked around, taking in my surroundings. I had landed on a road, close to a bridge, and part of the barrier had a hole. The hole was large enough to have a van crash through it.

The moment I realized where I had landed was the same moment that I heard the roar of an engine and a car honk. Turning my head, I realized why. A vehicle was speeding directly toward me, and it was picking up speed.

A stab of pain shot through my head, and instantly, I thought, _not again, Peter_. Words I didn't acknowledge with confusion because I pushed myself off the ground with an effort and ran for the side of the road. I watched the approaching vehicle in my peripheral vision, seeing that as I raced across the street, the car or van moved with me, purposely trying to hit me.

With a jolt, and a pang of pain in my head, I realized I wasn't going to make it with the speed the vehicle was going. It had reached me, and I dove forward, the front of the car clipping my hip and throwing me off into the grass. I rolled and landed on my back, a hand instantly rubbing my hip. It was going to be a nasty, painful bruise.

The car's engine rumbled away, but I heard a squeal of tires and the same engine returning. Determined to hide, I forced myself to my feet, grunting as pain shot through my hip and leg. Stumbling, I made it to the barrier and collapsed beside it, shoving myself to a sit-up position and leaning against the cement.

The car had returned by then, coming to a stop near my position. With my heart pounding in my chest, I closed my eyes and exhaled, waiting, just waiting.

"You won, Shadow."

I opened my eyes and glanced up at a dark figure standing close by. In the early morning light, I couldn't distinguish his features, but noted that he wore a green suit with a matching jacket covered in question marks. A green hat sat upon his red hair, and a cane with a handle shaped like a question mark rested under his gloved hands. He peeked at me through a red eyemask, waiting for my response.

When I remained silent, he sighed, reached into his pocket, and tossed something at my feet. "You managed to escape my death trap, even though you wouldn't have been electrified like the original plan was."

"What?" I said in disbelief.

"One of my men had wired it wrong so it didn't work. You'd have been dead though; you were a second late, the second that cost you to get hit." He pointed his cane at my side. "I suppose you're lucky to be alive, to an extent." He slipped his hand into his jacket and pulled out a manila folder, tossing that onto my lap. "You'll only be alive for as long as this man wants you to be. I thought I'd warn you."

He turned to leave, but I asked, "Why are you warning me? I'm a cop, you're a criminal."

"You're not a cop," he said over his shoulder. "You're a criminal trained to be a detective."

"_Ex_-criminal," I called after him, but he ignored me and disappeared around the barrier. The car engine revved, and it drove away, leaving me with the manila folder and whatever he tossed to the ground. Reaching for it, I discovered it was my cell phone, which he probably took in case I _had_ survived, so that it avoided water damage. A quick check-over revealed the Riddler hadn't messed with my phone.

Heaving a deep sigh, I tried to think of whom to call. I couldn't have this found out by Gordon, Hawkins, or Bullock, or even Nash. As much as I trusted Nash, I didn't want to risk him reporting to the Commissioner about my meeting the Riddler; it didn't matter if he had attempted to kill me in the process of him giving me information. That and I didn't feel up to calling Nash and having to explain everything that had happened, so I called the only other person I could trust: Xander.

"Hey, can you come get me?" I asked, hopeful.

"Yeah, grabbing my coat now. Where are you?"

"I'm…" I looked around, saw a sign but couldn't read it at my angle, so I pulled myself onto my feet, gasping in pain.

"Are you _hurt_?" Xander asked immediately.

"Yeah, kinda." I winced as I moved, checking my position with the sign.

"Don't move. Just tell me where you are."

"Green Bridge." I gasped as I leaned against the barrier, pain stabbing through my hip. "One of the nine bridges, I'm on the island side. Where Arkham Asylum used to reside before Fear Night."

"Cool, on my way. See you in a few minutes." I heard her engine start as she hung up, and after a moment, I decided to call Nash. He answered immediately, demanding to know where I was, and I gave him vague but sufficient details.

"Please don't tell, Nash," I pleaded when I had finished. "I don't want to deal with the inquiries."

"I promise," he said sincerely. "So, are you coming back to Iceberg Lounge?"

I shook my head, but then realized he couldn't see it, so I said, "No, I called a friend to come pick me up. It was too much excitement for words; I think I'll sleep it off."

"Okay, I'll tell Gordon you're not feeling well and needed to go home, which he'll fall for since you looked like you haven't seen sleep in a day."

"True that," I said, wearily. "Thank you, Nash. I appreciate this."

"No problem, McKinley. Rest up." I hung up and waited for Xander, looking around. I spotted the folder the Riddler had tossed into my lap that dropped when I had pushed myself to my feet. Even if it didn't have anything in it, I decided to pick it up, suffering through shooting pain in my side as I grabbed it off the ground.

She pulled up and opened the passenger door so I could slip in. Of course, I landed on my bruised hip. I sucked in air through clenched teeth, groaning in pain. First question out of Xander's mouth was "What happened?"

Unlike telling Nash, I told Xander every detail, from the moment I left the Iceberg Lounge to her picking me up. When I mentioned the bruise, Xander pulled up my shirt without even asking my permission, and I protested, only to be shushed rather quickly.

"You'll live," she remarked, casually.

"What are you? A doctor?" I snapped. She flicked my hip, causing me to gasp as pain vibrated through my side.

"I'm doing you a favor. Don't be bitter." She drove back to our apartment building and aided me up the four flights of stairs to my apartment. "When are you ever going to have a normal night shift?" she asked me, making conversation.

"I keep asking that myself," I grunted. Every stair sent shooting pain through my leg and side. "Everything's gone to hell since two nights ago."

"What happened two nights ago?"

"I arrested Catwoman."

"Not according to the news."

"Well, I wasn't supposed to be there."

Xander grinned. "You're a badass."

"Hardly." I grimaced.

I unlocked my door, and Xander helped me hobble inside. Subconsciously, I tossed the Riddler's folder onto the counter as we passed it, moving in the direction of the couch. Once we reached it, I collapsed on it, whimpering with the pain. Xander retrieved an icepack from my freezer and pressed it against the bruise. I shivered as I thanked her, and when she asked if I needed her to stay, I told her she was free to go, that I was going to do what I told Nash and sleep off the excitement. I didn't even hear her close the door; almost the moment I closed my eyes, I crashed.

Sleep only embraced me until four thirty, giving me an hour before I awoke with my eyes aching, tearing from dryness, and a nasty taste in my mouth. The icepack had succeeded in nearly numbing the bruise with cold. I limped over to my freezer, storing away the pack and hobbled into the bathroom.

I turned on the faucet and washed my mouth out with the running water, and when that didn't work, I used mouthwash. My eyes continued to sting, my vision containing gray fuzzy spots that I couldn't see through. After spitting, I splashed water over my face, gently rubbing my eyes. I patted my eyes and nose dry and then looked up in the mirror. Drips of water resided on the glass, from the splashing, but I could still see myself clearly – a woman without her memories.

Surprisingly, a sad face looked back at me. I could see aftereffects of the excitement that had occurred in the past three nights. The lack of sleep, the close encounter with near-death, the loss of a psychiatrist, the arrest of a cat burglar. I could see each plainly in the face that the mirror revealed.

The hour of sleep had done nothing. I narrowed my eyes at the mirror, watching as my reflection copied me. Out of Arkham for two months, and my depression _still_ hadn't faded. It resided underneath everything, my work, my frustrations, yet now it surfaced with the reminder my encounter with the Riddler brought forth.

I had been a criminal, with an ability with shadows, and now, I was a detective, _still_ with the ability with shadows, it appears. But I was only a detective, a "junior" one who couldn't be trusted to have a case of her own.

My hand curled into a fist. How could living the opposite lifestyle be helping? I exhaled sharply, my nostrils flaring as I attempted to control my rising anger. What connections did I have to my past life? What did I _have_?

"I don't-_tah_ think the mirror is going to break any time soon."

Instantly, I scrambled for something, grabbing the first thing I got my hands on and then faced the doorway, expecting an intruder. Well, it was an intruder, definitely someone I really _didn't_ want in my apartment, but the sight of him made my heart skip a beat.

In all of his menacing glory, clad in his purple jacket stood the Joker, the infamous Clown Prince of Crime. Seeing my eyes widen, his scarred lips curled into a Glasgow smile. He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrows slightly at the sight of my chosen weapon. His tongue traced his lower lip slowly as he lifted his gaze to mine, looking confused. "A _tooth_-brush?" he said.

I looked down and found my toothbrush in my hands. My face fell as I noticed a razor not far from where I grabbed the brush. I glared at him, daring him to say more, and then asked seriously, "And what do _you_ have?"

He pulled his pockets inside out, both his pants and his jacket. "I left them all on the kitchen counter, gun, knives…" he explained. "It's just you, me…and your toothbrush between us."

I couldn't trust him; he was a criminal, one of the top and most wanted. My heart pounded in my chest, whether from fright or from something else, I couldn't tell, but I knew I couldn't let my guard down, not around _him_. In my mind, I knew that I could not show any weakness and must appear as though I had control of the situation. Clearing my throat, I asked, "Why are you in my apartment? Did you forget that I'm a _cop_ and can arrest you?"

"You think you can _manhandle_ me?" The Joker laughed, his chuckle sending chills down my spine. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I exhaled slowly through my nose, keeping my eyes fixed on him. In response, he sauntered toward me, to which I backed up into the bathroom closet door. "Yah know, De-_tec_-tive," the Joker drawled, "There's a _difference_ between a _cop_…" He lunged at me, and before I could react, pressed me hard against the closet door, his hands on my upper arms, his hot breath on my face and neck. "And a detective," he finished, licking his lips quickly.

I attempted jerking out of his grasp, but he held me tightly, twisting my upper arms slightly. I maintained my expression, my eyes unwavering; I couldn't allow his actions to faze me. "We're on opposing sides," I said in a low but dangerous tone.

"Oh, _real_-ly?" he chuckled. "I don't _think_ so."

My eyebrows arched in mock surprise. "What makes you say that?"

His eyes lifted to the door over my head. "Assuming you're on the _opposing side_, then you're a good girl, right? You haven't told the Com-_mish_ about me yet-_ah_." He lowered his eyes, meeting mine. He narrowed them, turning his head slightly. "Isn't this something he should _know_, something you should _report_, if you are a good girl?"

"He knows everything about you. He doesn't need me to report anything that he already knows. Whether I'm a good girl or not, he knows all the details."

"Ah, but _Sha_-dow" – I shivered involuntarily at the way he said my criminal name – "There's so _much_ you haven't told the Com-_mish_ about your _boy_-friend."

"Boyfriend?" I pressed both my hands on his chest and shoved hard. He hadn't expected me to push him away so I caught him off guard and managed to slip out into the living room. I turned around quickly when I heard his footsteps and found him following directly behind me. He stood so close to me, and _taller_ than I, so I had to step back and look up, never failing with my constant scowl. "I don't have _any_ connection to you."

A wince crossed his face but vanished a split second later, so quickly that I questioned whether I had seen it or not. Regardless, I glowered into a hard expression on his face. "Ah, but you _do_, Shadow," he said, unpredictably composed.

"You forget who I am," I told him coldly.

"_I_ haven't-_tah_. However, _you_ have. Why else would you look yourself in the mirror, staring so in-_tent_-ly and whispering your _name_ like there's a chance hearing it would bring _some_-thing back?" He spoke with his words, his tone, and his hands, a theatric sight as he used an almost whining tone, as if he himself _understood_ what it was like, wishing for something to come but not receiving it.

"_Nothing_ ever comes back, _does_ it?" he asked, his eyes flashing with what might have been sympathy. "No one's told you _any_-thing, _Jane_." My eyes narrowed, sensing mockery when he used my name. "How many times have you repeated your name in front of the mirror? It's not a game of Bloody Mary. Eventually, you have _got_ to realize that saying your name isn't going to bring anything _back_, Shadow."

"Stop calling me that," I snapped, hastily. "Get out of my apartment or I'll call the cops."

"Fine by me."

I blinked, my mouth hanging open a bit in disbelief, as the Joker moved over to my couch. He plopped down with a loud sigh, draping his arms over the back and making himself at home. Once comfortable, he watched me from under his white brow, waiting expectantly.

I remained standing, simply amazed that the threat of the police wasn't going to scare him off; then again, this was the Joker, the man who had escaped from the old MCU. Cops didn't frighten him.

"Well," he said, fixing my attention upon him. "Why aren't you calling the cops?"

My frown deepened, and without hesitation, even without giving myself a moment to look, I said, in an accusing tone, "You have my cell phone."

A smile stretched over his scarred lips as he reached a hand into his pocket. "Very ob-_serv_-ant-_tah_," he drawled, clapping his hands in mock praise after he set my phone in the dead center of my coffee table.

"Hardly," I said, verbally smacking away the praise, even if it was real. "You probably knew I would threaten to call the police, or _anyone_, for that matter, so while your presence was still unknown, you snatched it so that I couldn't make any call."

"Nah-tu-_ral_-ly." He flashed a smirk in my direction.

Resisting the temptation to retort, I sat down in my lounge chair, sitting on the edge and facing him. I rested my elbows on my knees and clasped my hands, tucking them underneath my chin. "What do you want from me?" I asked, seriously.

He narrowed his eyes, his mouth turning down – as far as it could go with the scars – into a frown. "You think I'm here for something _from_ you?" he demanded, leaning forward. "Do I _look_ like a guy who just-tah _pops_ in whenever he _wants_ something?"

"Yes," I said simply. His mouth twitched, but the seriousness in his face didn't fade. "You wouldn't be here unless you wanted something."

"Do I _look_ like-?"

"The kind of guy who would do that, yes, you do," I completed for him. He pouted; I couldn't believe it. Obviously, this _visit_ wasn't going the way he planned. He gave me defiant stare, one I returned in a staring contest. I waited for him to actually answer my question, but after a minute or two ticked by, I sensed he need me to repeat it. Narrowing my eyes, I reworded my question slightly. "Fine, what do you want _with_ me then?"

"Hm," he rumbled, stroking his chin in thought. "Do you _really_ want me to answer that?" he asked mischievously, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I scowled; even if he _had_ been a boyfriend, he shouldn't be bothering due to the fact that I didn't remember. "Do you enjoy _tormenting_ me?" I demanded, coldly.

"Torment? The way I see it, we're tormenting each other."

My fury flared. "How do _I_ torment _you_?" I shook my head. "No, don't bother answering that."

"I'm a criminal," the Joker exclaimed, spreading his arms out wide. "I _break_ the rules and don't listen to others. _So_…I'm gonna answer that question."

My heart leaped into my throat when my cell phone beeped once. We both looked down at the coffee table between us where it rested. After a moment, the Joker cleared his throat, bringing my attention back to him.

"Believe me, De-_tec_-tive," he began, clasping his hands on his chest, "Even from this comfortable position, I'll _still_ get that faster than you." He eyed my phone for a moment to drive the point in, which I understood right away. I leaned back, sinking into the lounge chair, and heaved a defeated yet irritated sigh. "Why the long face?" he asked, his eyebrows raising in confusion.

I threw him a dark look. "Oh, I don't know," I said, sarcastically. "Maybe because there's a wanted _criminal_ in my damn house."

"Apartment," he corrected, amused. I glared at him. "Don't you want to know why I'm here?"

"Are you-?" Furiously, I stood up and walked across the room, turning my back on him and glaring at my DVD collection. Despite my anger, I strained my hearing, listening for any movement on his part. When I finally spun to face him, he hadn't moved. "What were we?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I snapped. "What were we, _before_ I lost my memory?"

The Joker chewed on the inside of his cheek, his brown eyes fixed on me. I watched him, waiting for his mental clockwork to create a plausible lie. I expected it; he would attempt to be funny by giving me a ridiculous lie. Whatever he said, most likely I wouldn't believe, even if it was true. Jason had already tried to prove that him and I were an item; I didn't believe him and I wasn't going to believe the Joker either.

The Joker growled, throwing his hands up in the air. "Why _bother_ answering that question?" he snarled. "You won't believe me, even if I _did_ tell the truth!"

"Then don't _tell_ me," I snapped. He gave me a look, similar to those that Jason had given me when I hurt his feelings. I felt no sympathy for him, nor did I feel anything for the clown sitting on my couch. "You're a one-trick pony, aren't you? This is the second time you lied to me."

"What, lie to you?"

I waved a hand dismissively. "Don't bother." A look of confusion flashed across his face. To take his mind out off my accusing statement, I said, "I'm gone, aren't I? Completely, and utterly gone. You don't recognize me, gone."

The Joker arched an eyebrow. After a pause, he leaned forward, pushed himself up, and stalked around the coffee table. He sauntered toward me with his chin held low slightly, walking a strange hunched over gait. The déjà vu sense came over me as the Joker approached, halting before me.

I stared in surprise. Why had he moved? Why wasn't I reacting with even a step back?

He lifted a hand, and I flinched slightly, preparing for him to hit me. Who knew with a guy as mentally unstable as the Joker? He brought his hand between us, the back of his hand facing me. I tensed, expecting him to attack me soon. His eyes staring intently into mine, he moved his middle finger and crossed it over his pointer.

I blinked, puzzled by his actions, and finally, I stepped back. Was he pulling my leg or something? Trying to get me off guard so he could jump me? What was he doing?

"We were this," the Joker said, jerking his hand slightly, drawing my attention back to his crossed fingers. I frowned, still confused. "I'm _answering_ your question, and you don't _get_ it." He chuckled, dropping his hand. "And I thought you were a de-_tec_-tive."

"If we were…_that_," I said slowly.

Unexpectedly, my vision darkened, and I couldn't see him. I blinked my eyes hard, trying to clear my sight when pain shot through my head. My hand moved to grab it, but then, a buzz echoed from the kitchen. For a split second, my heart stopped; it was the intercom.

The Joker took me by surprise, grabbing me in a bear hug, picking me up, and then dropping me onto the couch. The movement scared me because my vision hadn't changed; everything was still black, as if the lights were out.

"What the heck?" I demanded, snapping out with anger and fear. I sensed him as he loomed over me, purposely standing between me and my cell phone. I could smell the sweat reeking off him, and I jerked away, sinking myself deeper into the cushions. "I have to get that," I told him, sternly as I looked up at where I thought his head was.

"Why?" he asked, in a sinister voice. I heard his lips smack together. "If you're not home, you won't answer a call from someone downstairs."

I blinked and then glared, even as my vision slowly but surely returned. Section by section, the Joker's white face, red lips, and black eyes appeared, first a blur of colors and shapes and then forming into a sharp image. I sniffed. "Whoever it is, if they have my cell number, they'll call that next."

The Joker lunged forward, pressing his hands into the back of the couch on either side of my head, a lean hunched figure clad in purple. He leaned over me, bringing his eyes level with mine. His tongue darted out to the small scar on his lower lip, and then, he said, "_Let_ them."

He leaned in closer, and I moved away, digging myself into the couch's cushions away from him. He kept his painted face close to mine, refusing to let me escape. Suddenly, the Joker, who had been holding his weight on his hands, dropped himself awkwardly, crashing down and crushing me underneath him. I grunted and then angrily shoved him off me, knocking him down onto the floor.

The Joker laughed, amused as he moved to a kneeling position. I tried jumping off the couch, but somehow, he grabbed me around the waist and threw me back down on the couch. "You act like I'm gonna hurt you, Shadow," he said, climbing to his feet. "Why's that?"

"Because you're a cold-blooded mass-murderer," I spat, seething. He jerked up, forcing me to sit down on the couch with him towering over me. His eyes flashed with such malice, overpowering my anger, smothering it. In its place emerged my fear of this man. With that rage gone, the fear flooded freely. "Don't _like_ being called that, do you?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice even.

"Would _you_, Shadow?" the Joker asked, cupping my chin with his hand, his finger stroking my cheek. Using a bit of courage, I jerked my head free, but he grabbed it again, none too gently this time. "Why the change? So angry, yet the fury seems to have disappeared. You're being very pre-_dic_-table," he breathed, licking his lips. "Are you…_afraid_?"

My breathing exhilarated as he brought his face to mine, leaning down and placing a knee on the couch's edge. "Are you going to hurt me?" I asked in a meek whisper.

The Joker paused, his brown eyes meeting my gaze, and he pulled back slightly, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. That moment lasted for eternity, my heart pounding furiously in my chest as I waited for his answer. "Do you _think_ I will?" he asked, deeply.

I swallowed as his fingers traced the side of my face, my fear growing by the second. "I…don't know. I don't want you to…"

He giggled as he pushed me into the couch cushions. My face burned as the Joker straddled me, holding his weight off me as he leaned in. Frightened, I tried to push him off, but he grabbed me in an awkward hug to stop me from knocking him off again. "You can _trust_ me, Shadow," he whispered into my ear, and then I felt his scarred lips against my neck.

"How can I trust you?" I asked, my voice faltering with the distraction. "I don't even _know_ you."

"Ah, but you do," he said. I shivered involuntarily, my neck hairs prickling as his hot breath ran down. "You've _al_-ways trusted me. Even though you've lost your _memory_, my trustworthiness hasn't-ah changed. Nothing's changed."

"But it has," I said, timidly.

He pulled away, and his face loomed into mine. Uncomfortable, I cowered into the cushions. "_Nothing. Has. Changed_," he insisted, jerking a bit closer to my face with each word. Every movement sent spikes of fear into my core. He was so close; I only saw the flicker of his eyes, and then he moved in.

The touch of his rough scars against my cheeks and lips felt so _familiar_. My fear spiked, but I relaxed against him as his hands freed themselves from underneath me. They grabbed at my face and then moved into my hair, scratching my scalp. His mouth moved aggressively against mine, overpowering fear flooding and drowning me from the inside, but I began to react instinctively, my hands sliding over his strong shoulders.

Even as we kissed, a bugging thought remained at the back of my head, that I should be remembering something. The taste of him, the feel of his scars, my stirring emotions, the passionate kiss…it all seemed so familiar. I tried hard to remember, but he was distracting me, tracing a hand down my side and resting it under my thigh.

He smiled, his scarred cheeks moving against mine, as he moved my leg around his, forming us into a twisted knot. As he placed his hand at the small of my back, my cell phone went off, vibrating loudly against the coffee table.

I broke the kiss, reaching a hand toward my phone, but the Joker growled, grabbing my wrist tightly. I gasped in pain as he pushed my hand down to the floor, stretching my arm backwards painfully.

The Joker ignored me, a growl emanating from his throat as he glared angrily at phone, blaming it for ruining the moment. I struggled to free my arm, but he started twisting my wrist. His eyes were dark with anger, and he seemed hardly aware that he was hurting me. I muffled my whimper as I stopped struggling; I needed my wrist in one piece. I waited uneasily as the Joker waited for the phone to stop vibrating.

When it finally became still, he released me, pushing himself up into a sitting position, and reached over, plucking my phone from the table and flipping it open. I reached for it, but he smacked my hand away without taking his eyes off the florescent screen. My frustration returning, I pushed myself up, but he shoved me back down, unconcerned as he gripped my throat to keep me down. I finally surrendered, for fear of being choked, as he checked who had called.

His face darkened, and he pushed some buttons before putting my cell to his ear. I gaped and then demanded, "How did you know my password?"

He squeezed my throat, constricting my breathing, forcing me to be quiet. I focused on trying to keep my breathing level, despite the limit, glaring coldly at the Joker as he listened to the message my caller had left. He didn't look happy, and when he glanced at me, he pushed the button, turning on loudspeaker.

It was Jason's voice: "-before work, I thought we could have dinner together. I know you haven't answered, and that's why I'm calling, to know if you'd like to or not. Even if you said no, I'd like to make sure that you know I'm asking as a friend, and that I'm hoping to be given the chance to make up for my conduct recently. I hope you're okay and sleep well today. If I don't get a call from you, I'll assume I'll see you at work tonight. Please call me if you need anything."

The Joker snapped my cell closed, watching me closely. An amused grin lit his face as he noticed my expression. Now, my anger wasn't directed at the Joker; it was directed at Jason for being a persistent dimwit.

"Why do you _like_ him?" the Joker asked curiously, squinting at me.

"Me? _Like_ him? You've _got_ to be _joking_."

The Joker smirked. "Was the pun intended?"

"No," I snapped.

He chuckled as he climbed off me, tossing my phone at me. I wasn't expecting that so my cell hit me in the face, causing the Joker to chuckle, but he abruptly cut himself off. "Stay away from him," he said, heading for the door.

"Why?" I asked, angrily.

He stopped, half-turning as he threw me a look over his shoulder. "You obviously don't_-tah_ remember what he _did_ to you. You agree to his request, he'll get the _wrong idea_." An irritated look flashed across his face, and then he turned back and headed toward the table by the door where he pocketed his knives.

Sitting up, I located a gun amongst the knives. "You said that you put those knives on the kitchen counter," I said, cautiously.

"So?" he asked, picking up the gun and throwing it up in the air, barrel-over-handle. He caught it and continued. "I lied. So what? I still didn't have them on my person, did I?" He lowered his eyes, glancing at me from under his white brow again. "_Don't_ accept the invitation," he ordered, turning toward the door. At the door, he turned again and tossed the gun toward me. "By the way, this is yours."

I lunged off the couch to catch it, and he chuckled before heading out the door. Once the door clicked behind him, I picked myself off the ground, holding the gun in my hand. My heart still hammered in my chest, and blood pounded in my ears. Relief washed through me, but it lasted for a short time.

The Joker was a wanted criminal, and he had been in my apartment. And this whole time, I hadn't called the police. Why wasn't I calling the police now? I had to get him before the Joker vanished from the area.

I ran out the door, clenching the gun tightly in my hand. Laughter echoed down the hallway as I closed my door. I turned my head, looking down the hall to where the Joker was standing, a cell phone in his hand.

"Miss me al-_ready_, De-_tec_-tive Mc-_Kin_-ley?" the Joker giggled, amused.

I held up the gun, pointing at him as I approached him. He remained where he was, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, more of a habit rather than nervously. "I called the police," I bluffed. "You'll be staying _right here_, until they come and get you."

"Do you _really_ expect me to believe that, De-_tec_-tive?" the Joker asked, with a mocking smirk. "You didn't call anyone."

I blinked. In a flash, the Joker had me disarmed with my arm twisted behind my back, putting me into a painful armlock, and with his other hand, he had the gun to my head. "By the way, you're not gone," he growled into my ear. "Your confidence returned. All that's missing is…" He paused and pressed his scarred lips to my cheek. "Your _loyalty_." He removed the gun from my head and pushed it into my hand before he shoved me forward, hard.

I tripped and fell to the floor, catching myself on my open palms, jarring both my wrists in the process. Whimpering, I collapsed before rolling over and sitting up, only to find that the Joker had vanished. I sighed and climbed to my feet slowly, trying hard not to hurt my aching wrists more.

It irritated me that the Joker had gotten away. Angry with myself, I returned to my apartment and realized I had locking myself out. I thought of calling Xander, but I didn't want to bother her after asking for a ride earlier.

After breaking into my apartment, I locked the door and sat down at the island in the kitchen, with the gun resting before me, my phone off to the side. I stared at it, wondering what the Joker meant about the gun being mine. Looking at the model name, I tried to think. Did I ever own a Glock G21?

I picked it up and held it, like I were to use it. I waited patiently for some memory to simply pop up, of me holding this gun before, but like any other time I _tried_…nothing.

I heaved a defeated sigh and put down the gun, picking up my cell instead. Entering my password, I went into my voicemail and listened to Jason's message, heaving a sigh when I found that the Joker hadn't deleted it.

After deleting the voicemail, I dialed his number and then placed the phone to my ear, heaving a sigh. "Hey, Jason," I said, as soon as he picked up on the other end. "It's Jane. I got your message. I'll take you up on the dinner offer."

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**Lordlink13: There, chapter sixteen. Be happy.**

**ThinkingOfPenNamesAreEvil: Y'all are welcome, so read and review.  
**


	17. Bouton de Rose

**Lordlink13: My beta reader is feeling slightly neglected. Only one person acknowledged her _existence_. She has feelings too, and she has to deal with so much to make you readers happy.**

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"Oh, I don't know…"

"Get your ass out here, and let me see."

With a sigh, I stepped out of the bathroom and stood there. Xander's eyes narrowed as she climbed off her bed. "Turn," she said, twirling her finger. I obeyed, feeling very self-conscious under her gaze. "The color looks very good on you," she said, "But I liked the other dress better."

I heaved an exasperated sigh and disappeared back into the bathroom. "Tell me again why I have to dress _formally_," I said as I slipped out of the dress.

"Jason's taking you to the Bouton de Rose. It's a fancy restaurant, third best in all of Gotham." Xander scoffed. "You have to look _spiffy_."

"I don't want to give him the wrong idea. Knowing him, if I wear a dress that shows too much, he'll want more than just dinner."

"He wouldn't _dare_. I'm your designated driver, and I'm there too; he has your attention for dinner and that's it."

I shook my head, but a smile resided on my face. I threw the dress she liked better over my head, slipping into it easily. Before I stepped out, I checked myself in the mirror. It was a dark blue a-line dress that hid most of my curves. I liked the gown though; it wasn't unflattering but more so modest.

Upon stepping out, Xander smiled and nodded. "Yup, that's the one." I rolled my eyes. "My turn." She hopped off her bed, grabbed a dress from her closet, and dashed into the bathroom. I sat on the edge of her bed to wait for her to come out.

"Why are you going?" I asked her through the door.

"I've got a _date_, just like you."

"It's _not_ a _date_."

When she did, I whistled. She sported a tight emerald green gown with sleeves that reached halfway to her elbows. The neckline was a low falling V-neck. The dress did everything _not_ to hide her curves. She walked over to her closet and grabbed three pairs of shoes, one pair was sparkly, one was black, and the third pair was red, all three pairs added about seven inches to her height.

"Which one?" she asked.

"Not the red ones." She tossed them back into the closet. "Maybe the black ones?" I said, uncertainly.

"Good choice." She slipped them on. They were suede platform pumps and looked spectacularly with her emerald dress. "Now, for you." She returned to her closet and grabbed a pair of silver Mary Janes. "And this works for yours." She handed them over, and wordlessly, I slipped them on. "What made you decide to agree to going to dinner with _Hawk_-ins?" Xander asked, mocking his name.

"Please don't do that," I said before I thought about it. Realizing it was too late to take it back, I dropped my face into my hands.

"Hey, kiddo." The mattress sunk next to me as Xander sat down, placing an arm around my shoulders. "Hey, what's wrong?"

When I took my hands away from my face, it surprised me to see the wetness of tears on my fingers. Xander noticed them right away and gathered me into a hug. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but more tears flowed freely.

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay," Xander said softly. "I'm here. What happened?"

Even though I was crying, my voice remained level and clear. I explained to her what had occurred in my apartment after she had left, how the Joker had come to visit and how I was utterly defenseless against him. As I described it, my body shook, and I couldn't control it, no matter how hard I tried.

Xander remained calm and told me to lie down. I obeyed, and she took off my shoes and then moved to sit beside me. She grasped my hands and spoke in a normal voice, as if I wasn't shaking. "So you're biting him in the ass by ignoring his 'advice' and accepting Jason's invitation."

I nodded, attempting to focus on my breathing so that my body would relax.

"Listen to me. It's a good move, but the next time the Joker, or _any_ guy for that matter, has you in a situation you're not comfortable in, you manipulate them."

"How?" I asked.

"Take your situation. He has the phone, and you tried to grab it. Instead of going for the phone, simply grab him, and then play that you are accepting him. Distract him enough so that you can escape."

"This is the _Joker_, we're talking about," I exclaimed, my voice cracking.

"Sweetie, the Joker is a _guy_. He _can_ be distracted." Xander heaved a sigh. "You're defying him though; you've made a step. One day, if you keep defying him, you'll be as good as me."

"You defy him?"

"Yes, I do, kiddo." Xander chuckled, causing me to smile. "I defied him by meeting you up on the roof."

"Really?" My shaking gradually slowed, and my muscles didn't hurt. I gave her a confused look. "He didn't want that?"

"For us to become friends, oh _hell_ he didn't want that. As if he needed another criminal taking in his right-hand woman." She grinned. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine." Xander helped me off the bed and replaced my shoes on my feet. She led the way out of her bedroom and grabbed her keys. "So, I saw a Glock on your counter when I came down. Is it yours?"

"Yeah…why?"

"A Glock's not going to do anything against zombies."

"Where did the zombies come from?" I asked.

"Say if a zombie apocalypse were to happen," Xander said. "A Glock wouldn't do much damage. Remind me when we get back to get you a better pistol."

"Fine," I sighed. As we stepped into her car, I asked, "What would you have used in a zombie apocalypse?"

"Sniper rifle," she replied without hesitation. "Find a tall building and pick them off."

I shook my head as I laughed. "And I'll refill the ammo."

"Sounds like a plan."

We arrived five minutes early to the Bouton de Rose, or 'Rosebud'. Stepping inside, I looked around, taking in the surroundings and instantly understanding why it was rated third under the Iceberg Lounge and some place that the Prince of Gotham owned. The place had two floors, with the entrance coming out onto a middle platform that led to a short staircase going either up or down. Chattering voices and clinking of glasses filled the air. The Rosebud appeared fairly popular tonight, and upon seeing all the well dressed people (who actually appeared a little _under_ dressed to me since I was used to seeing Iceberg Lounge's formality), I grew uncomfortable.

It didn't make me feel any better when Xander squeezed my arm, wishing me a nice dinner and then splitting off for whoever her date was. I watched her go, fear filling my chest to almost bursting. My eyes narrowed with slight betrayal when Xander reached a famous Mr. Wayne and a few friends. He spotted her immediately and watched her intently, in a rather creepy manner. Anger boiled inside me as multiple thoughts raced through my head, most being guesses of why he was looking at her the way he did.

Temptation to walk over came over me, but I couldn't accept it as the host, dressed in a white shirt and tie, appeared. "Excuse me, ma'am, how may I help you?" he asked.

"Is there a reservation for a Mr. Hawkins?" I asked him.

Without looking he said, "Yes, of course. Are you Ms. McKinley?"

"Detective McKinley," I corrected.

"My mistake, ma'am. There is someone who'd like to see you. If you would come with me." He turned and headed for the staircase going up. Cautiously, I followed, expecting the worst, confused by the idea that someone was interfering with my 'dinner date'.

I tensed when the host led me to a booth, but as I came closer, I sighed inwardly with relief. Ron Bleak sat at the booth, and upon spotting me, he smiled gently. Even with my relief that it wasn't some Mobster or criminal who wanted to bump me off, anger shot through my veins as I slipped into the booth opposite him.

"I apologize for the inconvenience," Mr. Bleak said, "I promise not to keep you long."

"What are you doing here, Mr. Bleak?" I asked, my voice even but hard.

"Please call me Ron," he offered. "I'm here for the same reason everyone else is. To eat dinner."

"You have something to drink, but nothing in front of you that indicates you are preparing to eat."

"Very good observation."

"I don't want you testing my observation skills," I told him rather coldly.

"Did I touch a nerve?"

"Be careful, Mr. Bleak," I warned, "Be _very_ careful." He smiled. Instantly, I suspected him to say something discourteous, but he kept his mouth shut. "What are you _really_ here for?" I demanded.

His hand lightly touched the top of his glass, sliding his finger along the rim. "I'm looking out for you."

"Why?"

"I invested in you during your time in Arkham and handled your apartment rent."

"You're a friend of Mrs. Wood. And as my _contributor_, that doesn't give you a reason to follow me."

"I need to protect my investment."

"I'm an investment?"

"You were," he said, honestly. "Does it annoy you that I'm looking out for you?"

"I can look after myself."

"I'm sure you can." I leaned forward over the table. He raised an eyebrow slightly. "Intimidating," he commented.

"If _anyone_ found out about a criminal _tailing_ me," I said coldly, "My loyalty to the law will be questioned."

"Wait, excuse me? I'm a _criminal_?"

"Don't act so surprised. You knew you were a criminal."

"What makes you figure?" he asked, curiously.

I narrowed my eyes. "You're a man who runs with the wrong crowd, or so Mrs. Wood claims. And you have strange hours. You tail me whenever you can. I _know_ you're a criminal, and I have a strong feeling you work for the Joker."

He shrugged. "And what brings you to that deduction?" he asked.

"You wouldn't have known where I was dining unless you worked for him."

"Or if I happened to be a friend of your date."

I shook my head. "Hawkins have friends? No, not possible. So, that leaves you as a _henchman_ of the clown."

"Henchman is _such_ a strong word." When I frowned, he grinned, but it didn't last long. "I have my ways of discovering things, and I'm _very_ observant." I heaved an exasperated sigh. "I don't have to defend my 'tailing' you."

"And why not?" I challenged, coolly.

"If anyone needs to defend themselves, it's you." I narrowed my eyes, confused. He leaned closer, his brown eyes fixed upon mine. "From where I'm sitting, I can see who enters the restaurant. I saw who walked in with you. I expect you barely know her but obviously trust her to some extent."

"You can't tell me who or-."

He shushed me, causing my anger to flare dangerously. "I'm not finished yet. If I had to guess, I'd say that you drove here with her since she went to see someone else while your _date_ is still waiting at his table."

"Which means I should be kind and go sit with him," I said angrily, moving to slip out of the booth. He caught my arm and held on, keeping me put.

"All I'm saying is that it's a good thing I'm looking out for you. You're too trusting of someone like her."

"I shouldn't trust _you_." My voice remained even, but he heard the angry in it. "I met her before I met you."

"Correction. You and I have met before; you just don't remember." I didn't respond, too busy trying to rein in my flaring temper. "But you're correct, you might not want to trust me either. However, there is a difference. Have you asked her about her past?"

"I haven't asked you yours."

"My first memory is waking up in a hospital bed at the age thirteen." I hesitated, biting my lower lip so my retort didn't slip. Seeing my uncertainty as a invitation, he continued. "I was placed in foster care, but ran away after a couple years." He waited a moment before saying, "I'd tell you my past if you asked. Every detail. Would she?"

I had enough. Roughly, I tore my arm out of his grip and slipped out of the booth. He cleared his throat, but I ignored him, insisting the host to bring me to my table. The host gestured toward Mr. Bleak, and angrily, I turned back.

He had turned to face me, his arm resting on the table. "Let this be a warning to you, Detective," he began. "Be careful who you meet and be aware of who you're seen with. One of these days, it may turn out badly for you." After he said that, he nodded to the host, and I was ushered away.

I followed the host, raging inside. Who did he think he was, warning me to look out for myself and to be careful of whom I'm friends with? My blood boiled hot as the host led me down to the lower floor, bringing me to where Jason sat.

He stood up as I approached, and he pulled out my chair. "You're beautiful," he commented.

Despite how much it infuriated me, I smiled and said nothing as I took my seat. The host had left, leaving me with Jason.

"I'm glad you agreed," Jason said, "I would have been here by myself."

"Jason, don't overdo it."

"Not having a good day?"

"I've had better."

The waiter came by to provide me with a drink and asked if we were ready for the meal. Jason asked me if I was fine with him choosing what to eat; I gestured for him to go ahead. When the waiter left, I asked, "Are you worried about the bill?"

"No, I know just what would cheer you up," he replied.

"You've been here before? With other women?" I received a glare for that, and I grinned, unable to resist.

After a moment, Jason began the dinner conversation. Beyond vaguely explaining why my day hadn't gone so well, I hardly spoke, only enough to keep him going. He talked about his day, what he had been working on so far (being vague about details because unless you're on the same case, detectives don't share their information), and in general, work.

Appetizers arrived, and my stomach growled, drawing my attention. Jason had ordered spicy chicken wings, and despite my slight dislike for hot foods, I tasted them and found I couldn't resist. To ward off the worst, I sipped away at my drink. Our waiter returned to refill my glass, and we waited for our dinner, Jason still continuing to talk. I simply ignored him while I ate.

With the appetizers gone, I reduced myself to listening to Jason drone on, checking my watch for the time and simply wishing that the dinner would arrive so that we could progress to heading back home before work.

Finally, Jason noticed I hadn't spoken much, and he decided to shift the conversation away from him, focusing it on me.

"So, what's been going on?" he asked.

"Nothing, just waiting for dinner," I told him. "And you've asked me that already."

"I'm not talking about dinner or about your day. You've been…_weird_ lately." He held up a hand when I opened my mouth to protest. "You've been angry recently, which is understandable since so much has happened. We've arrested Catwoman."

"We," I murmured mockingly. He didn't hear me.

"You've lost your psychiatrist." He paused, as if he sensed my sudden rage flare, but he continued, oblivious. "Which brings up something I wanted to talk to you about. Since Dr. Young's…"

"If you're going to talk about it, just _say_ it," I snapped. "No point attempting to soften the blow."

"You were obviously attached to her."

"No one gets attached to psychiatrists. They're doctors who are paid to pry into your mind."

"Well, you didn't seem to be bothered by her."

"She was someone I talked to every now and then. She wasn't actually my doctor."

"That's what I was going to say. She was licensed to work as a psychiatrist for patients _in_ Arkham Asylum, not outside." I opened my mouth to argue, but he pressed on. "You're no longer a patient so you shouldn't still be mentally calling yourself that. If Dr. Young had been caught, she would have lost her job and possibly her license for affiliating with an ex-patient."

I narrowed my eyes. "You were going to say ex-criminal, weren't you?"

"No, I meant ex-patient. You were risking Dr. Young's-."

"Listen to me, Jason," I said as our waiter finally brought our meal to the table, "You wanted to talk about me, not her."

Jason glared, but turned to the waiter as he placed my plate before me. "Where's our waiter?" he asked.

"He had to go home. Family emergency," the new waiter said. My blood ran cold. The voice, the tone sounded very familiar to my ears, but I couldn't get myself to look at him. I stiffened as the waiter's hand reached out for my glass, refilling it and placing it back before me. As he turned to refill Jason's, I gathered enough courage to look up.

The waiter's attention remained on pouring wine, his face turned away from me. His features looked familiar too, but I couldn't place them. The spike of fear jolting through me scared me into throwing pleading eyes in Jason's direction. Jason didn't notice; his eyes were busy on his food.

I glanced up at the waiter, but this time, a jolt of panic shot through my body. He was staring at me. Just a look into his dark eyes, a smile creeping onto his face.

_He was coming at me, holding something long in his hand. "No, don't kill her!" a familiar voice screamed, desperately. My attacker lifted his weapon quickly, but I spotted and recognized the form of it before he heaved it towards my head. A bat…a _metal_ bat._

"Hey! You!"

The waiter dropped the wine bottle, spilling it onto the floor and some hitting my legs, and he took off running. A dark form rushed past the table after him, yelling something incomprehensible. I blinked, frozen in my seat, simply watching as Jason pulled my plate toward him and sniffing it, nearly shoving his nose into it. He noticed the liquid pouring out on the ground, grabbed some napkins, and began wiping it up.

I blinked, and the vision replayed itself. It took all my effort to keep myself from releasing a scream that was bursting in my chest. I stood up. Jason said something, no sound coming from his mouth, but I understood enough to explain that I needed to clean the wine off my legs. I escaped to the ladies' room, unable to hear anything from the people in the restaurant.

I leaned over one of the sinks, gripping the edge of the counter tightly as I closed my eyes. The flashback erupted in my vision again, a whimper whistling through my lips.

When I had awoken in the hospital, they had told me that someone had attempted to kill me, had struck me with a bat. The flashback was so vivid; my fear reawakened in response to the taste of blood in my mouth. Pain throbbed in my head, but it didn't last long.

From a hit like that, I should have died. _Should_ have…but I survived. How did I pull through? Was there something I had to do and just didn't want to give up? Was it simply luck?

As the waiter once again swung at my head, the bat whistling through the air, I flinched, feeling the fear and pain gnaw at me. I hunched over the sink, shaking my head violently, my hands clenching the counter so hard that my knuckles hurt.

The bathroom door opened and then closed loudly, but it sounded like a sickening_ crack_ to my ears. My head cracking under the swing of that metal-.

"Sweetie?"

I opened my eyes, finding myself sweating and breathing heavily. I blinked and looked at my reflection, seeing fear written across my face.

Xander appeared behind me and saw my expression. "Hang on, kiddo, I'm here." She retrieved paper towels, folded one, and wetted it. "Focus on breathing," she ordered me as she proceeded to wipe my legs dry of dripping wine.

My attention focused on her. She stood from cleaning my legs and wetted another towel, wiping my face. I closed my eyes under the cool touch, but instantly flinched as I saw the bat flying toward me again.

Xander gently shushed me, gathering me into a hug. I stiffened against the touch, and she pulled away. "C'mon, I'll take you home."

She hooked her arm in mine and led the way out of the bathroom. As we neared the entrance, Jason caught us.

"Hey, where are you taking my date?" he demanded of Xander.

"She needs to get home," she explained, matching his tone.

"I can do that."

"No, I'll do it."

"Who are you to be-?"

"I'm the one who drove her here," Xander snapped. "Obviously, she trusts me more than you." He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "Get lost. I brought her here. I'm taking her home too." Then, she marched me out of the restaurant, ignoring Jason as he tried following us. He threatened to get her license number, and Xander told him to screw himself.

Angrily, he flashed his badge and yelled, "I'm a cop!"

"I don't care. I'm taking her home. You handle the whole poison situation," she told him as she helped me into the car.

"I order you to stop!"

Xander closed my door and walked around the car. Jason repeated his request, ordering her to stop or he would arrest her. She ignored him, stepped behind the steering wheel, and turned the ignition. I flinched as Jason knocked hard on the window. In response, Xander rolled down hers and flipped him off before stepping on the gas and zipping out of the Bouton de Rose parking lot.


	18. Accusation

Silence hovered inside the car, only pierced by the rumble of the engine and soft whimpers that escaped my numb lips. Sitting in the passenger seat, I braced myself for the oncoming visions, the bat flying toward my face with the strength of a man behind it. My hand clenched every time over Xander's, my body stiffening as I flinched.

Finally, Xander said, "You need to call in."

"Call in?" I repeated, confusion battling against my overpowering fear.

"Call in to work," she explained. "You're not well."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

"I am."

"No," she said, sharply, almost angrily. "You hardly go ten seconds without flinching." As if to prove her point, the vision replayed, causing me to jerk away from the swinging bat. "Whatever flashback you're having, it's not good, and I'm not letting you go to work in this condition."

I steeled myself against the flashback, ordering my body not to flinch. Holding my breath, I managed to remain still as the bat repeatedly hit my head, pain shooting and then numbing before it hurt again. "I need to work," I said, my voice even as the bat hit me.

"No, you need sleep," she argued.

"I can sleep later."

"Jane, _no_."

"You can't stop me," I said, anger slipping through my fear and finally breaking the effect the flashback held.

Xander glanced at me for a moment. "Believe me, kiddo. I _can_."

"What's the point of me taking the night off?" I demanded. "I'll be up all night, regardless. I can't sleep."

"Take Melatonin," she suggested, her eyes focused on the road. "And for sleeping during the day, buy black-out curtains. They'll keep the light out."

"That's _not_ my issue."

"You'll find that it helps."

"I'm not missing work because of this."

"You are, whether you like it or not."

"Xander, I don't want Jason on my case."

"He shouldn't be on your case," she said, "You've had three attempts on your life in the past three nights. When will you ever have a break?"

"Three attempts?" I looked at her, surprised to hear this.

"The waiter guy tried to poison you tonight. Last night was the Riddler, and the night before that was…" Her voice trailed off as she realized that she was telling me something that I didn't know and that, most likely, she didn't want me to know.

"You were there that night," I said slowly. "The night Dr. Young died." Her lips pressed together tightly, whitening slightly. "Xander?"

"All right, I was there," she said, grudgingly. "If I hadn't gotten there, you too would have been dead."

"I appreciate it," I said.

"Don't blame me for your psychiatrist's death. I didn't get there in time to save her, just you."

"I said, I appreciate it. The only one to blame for Dr. Young's death is me."

"It wasn't your fault," she insisted.

"Yes, it was. I was there, and I'm the cop. I should have protected her."

"Jane, stop it."

"Fine." I dropped it, forcing myself to look out the window and focus on the passing buildings and cars. Xander parked in front of our apartment building, and we headed up in silence. Despite my anger, fear still constantly pumped through me as I expected the waiter to appear and make another attempt on my life.

Side-by-side, we climbed the stairs, reaching Xander's floor faster than wanted. I paused, but Xander kept climbing, heading toward my floor or possibly somewhere else. "You going to the rooftop?" I asked.

"What do you care?"

"I just wondered. You don't have your camera."

Xander stopped and turned on the stairs, fixing me with a cool stare. "All right, fine, I'm going to your apartment with you."

"To make sure I sleep?" I asked, "Because that's not going to happen. I'm getting dressed for work."

"Well then, c'mon." She started up the stairs again, and I shook my head, following her.

"I'm surprised you're letting me go."

"You're a pain in my ass. So, if you won't listen to me, I have to go along with your decision," Xander said. She unlocked my door with the spare key. "If you're going to work, I'm driving you."

I scoffed, and she threw a glare in my direction. "Go get dressed," she said, sternly.

I stuck my tongue out and vanished into my bedroom, kicking off my shoes and slipping out of my dress.

"Hey, kiddo, what's this?" she called from the other room.

"What's what?" I asked, slipping into jeans.

"This folder. On your counter."

"Ah…" I thought for a moment while I pulled on a tee-shirt. "Oh, the folder the Riddler gave me? I have no idea. He said something about how the guy in the folder, I guess, will keep me alive for as long as he wants. Something like that."

"Peter Sullivan?" She said it quietly, yet I could still hear it through the door. I came out, spotting her at the counter, looking over the contents of the folder.

"Is that his name?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe to yank on a pair of socks. She glanced over her shoulder and then wordlessly closed the folder. "What's your interest in him?"

"If he's the man trying to kill you…" Again, she trailed off, but before I could prompt her, she said, "Do you want to grab anything to eat?"

"Why?" I asked.

"Since you didn't get to eat your dinner?"

"No, I'll be fine." She raised her eyebrows. "I ate the appetizers. That's a meal in itself."

Xander headed for the door. "Know that you're staying in all night, kiddo." I threw on my Skechers, grabbed my jacket, and hurried after her, locking the door behind me. "We can grab something on the way there."

"Don't bother," I told her. "I'll get something close by during my break."

We were at the stairs when Xander spun around, nearly causing me to collide into her. "I _know_ what it's like," she said, her voice even but dangerously low. "I suffer flashbacks worse than you ever have. I hid it very well; I've been surrounded by people and still was forced to act as if nothing was happening."

"No need to get upset, I understand that," I said.

"No, you don't understand, and no, I'm not upset. I'm _worried_."

"About what?"

"About you." She shook her head. "I'll drop you off now."

"It's kind of early," I muttered.

"Yeah, well, I don't care. I have something to look for." She headed down the stairs, and I hurriedly followed her.

Once again, we stepped into her car, and she drove to the MCU. I hated the silence; it felt like a heavy weight on my entire body, my fingers vibrating nervously. Luckily, the drive was only five minutes long from our apartment to my work so I climbed out, thanking her for the ride.

"Don't mention it," she said flatly, and then pulled away from the curb, driving off.

I snuck in the back entrance and hid in the breakroom, using the coffeemaker there rather than revealing to all that I was early. Knowing Jason, he probably would have announced to the unit what had occurred in the Bouton de Rose. In my mind, I was convinced that some officers would decide to poke fun at the fact that I've been avoiding Jason for so long and yet gave in to a dinner, in which case I almost got poisoned.

"Joy," I muttered over my coffee as I switched on the news out of boredom.

New reporters had already flocked to the scene, but surprisingly, the story wasn't focused on the almost poisoned detective. No. It was focused on famous Bruce Wayne and how his date for the night ran off. I watched it, feeling guilty for tearing Xander away from her date with Wayne, but at the same time, I sat there, amused by how Wayne fended off the reporters, refusing to give any information about who it was and why did she leave.

"Popularity sucks, doesn't it, Mr. Wayne?" I murmured, sipping my coffee.

The door to the breakroom opened as I said it, and Nash appeared. "You're talking to yourself now?" he asked.

I gestured to the television. "I'd hate to live the life of the rich and famous. There's no such thing as a private moment. News reporters follow you everywhere; they want to know every detail about your life, how you think, what you wear, who you're with. I'm sorry, I enjoy my privacy, thanks." I swallowed a gulp of coffee. "Are you getting off or just starting?"

"Getting off. Been here since last night."

"I am _so_ sorry."

Nash shrugged and moved to the coffeemaker, pouring himself a cup. When he turned back, I could see the bags under his eyes. "Hawkins's reported the whole incident. The Commissioner's already told us that if we see you, we're to bring you here."

"What did Jason say?" I asked.

"That you had gotten kidnapped right under his nose."

"She's a _friend_, damnit," I swore. "She was taking me home. Why he is such a damn…" I couldn't think of the word.

"Girl?" he suggested.

"Yes, thank you. He's a girl, thinking I was getting kidnapped by a friend." I shook my head. "Why the hell did he even think that in the first place?"

"The woman wouldn't stop when he ordered her to." Nash chuckled softly. "That's two women I'm aware of that don't bend to Hawkins's orders. You, and now whoever your friend is." He sipped his coffee, swirling it around in the cup for a few moments. "I'm guessing she's the one who drove you home the other night?" I nodded. "That's what I thought. I told the Commissioner that you wouldn't get into a car with a stranger."

"Please tell me, he believed you."

He nodded. "Hawkins received a good lecture for it. I wish I had been there when the Commissioner chewed him out for simply assuming." He smirked. "Hawkins is _not_ happy."

"I hope that he never comes back while I'm here," I said, finishing off the dregs.

"The Commissioner plans to keep him busy. Routine checks and such. Hawkins shouldn't be back until his shift is over."

"I hope so." I started to prepare another cup of coffee but changed my mind and rinsed my mug out. "Have a good night, Nash." He nodded and drained his coffee as I left the breakroom to clock in.

* * *

He had to intervene. He simply _had_ to intervene. He couldn't _resist_!

Hunter threw his glass bottle at a nearby cat, missing and causing the animal to yowl and run off. He leaned heavily against the wall, pressing his forehead into the cool brick. Unsteadily, he slid down its length and sat on the ground, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

"_Poor Hunter. He still can't kill off the little Thief."_

"I wasn't my fault," Hunter spat, angrily.

Peter chuckled in the back of his mind. _"Are you really going to blame Bleak for your inability to do anything correct?"_

"I almost got her."

"_No, you didn't. You were too obvious."_

"She was distracted, listening to that corrupt cop."

"_Once corrupt cop."_

"You used him before!"

"_And if you were smart, you'd use him again,"_ Peter pointed out. _"Of course, you're inexperienced, and you'd mess it up. I, on the other hand, know how to play the cards right."_

Hunter dropped his face into his hands. "I can't…"

"_Can't what?"_ Peter demanded, his tone hard. _"Can't trust me?"_

"No, I can't live while she's still alive. I _have_ to kill her, myself."

"_Then rely on me. I can help you do that."_

"I don't trust you."

"_You've trusted me before, and I have never led you astray."_

Hunter didn't respond, his face still buried in his hands. Very faintly, he felt something touch his shoulder.

"_Watch her closely, Hunter. Learn her patterns inside and out. It will take more time, but be patient. I have a feeling that luck will be on our side this time."_

* * *

My pen scratched against the report, my ears twitching with the noise. Painfully, my eyes scanned the contents on the paper, stinging and burning from the strain. The words swam in my vision, and I paused long enough to rub my eyes to clear them.

My focus remained on my work. I couldn't allow any second of distraction in due to the fact that every time, anger slipped into my consciousness about the situation at the Bouton de Rose. I wanted it to be gone, to drop it, and never have it bother me again, but every time, every _time_…

A knock at my door startled me slightly, but I didn't raise my head. "Hm?" was my only response.

"Hard at work, as always." Recognizing Bullock's mocking voice, I set my pen down and looked up, resisting the urge to rub my eyes. He raised a paper bag of fast food. "Heard from Hawkins you didn't really get anything to eat," he said.

At the thought of food, my stomach grumbled loudly, and Bullock risked a smile. He brought it over and set it down before me. "Mind you, this doesn't make us friends," he said, shoving a finger close to my face.

I rolled my eyes. "Of course, we'll never be friends," I said as I pulled out a cheeseburger, unwrapped it, and took a bite. Savoring the taste of food, I leaned back in my chair, chewing slowly.

"I would have gotten you a soda, but I didn't know what you liked."

"Coffee's fine," I mumbled around my mouthful. I swallowed and then said, "A sugar spike is not what I need right now, anyway."

Without bothering to ask permission, Bullock plopped his rear down in a chair, facing me. "Hawkins isn't doing his job very well," he remarked.

"He was off-duty," I said, despite hating myself for defending him.

"No, not that job. He's your parole officer."

I thought for a moment as I chewed away at another bite of burger. Swallowing, I said, "I'm supposed to check in with him, nothing more."

"He also promised to protect you."

"He's told me." I reached into the paper and pulled out the steaming fries, setting them on the burger's wrapping and picking away at them.

"That's what he told the Commissioner," Bullock said as I munched on the fries. "He promised over and over again that he'd protect you and keep you away from the other criminals, whether you had known them or not. My opinion is that he was _begging_ to be your parole officer, claiming many times that he knew you and that he could handle you-."

"_Handle_ me?" I scoffed angrily. "What does that boy know about handling me?" I leaned forward and said, "You know what his problem is? He believes that there is a chance that whoever I was will come back, and that he'll _handle_ me. _Manhandle_, most likely. Thing is, it's not happening."

"Because you were a criminal before you lost your memory?" Bullock asked.

It surprised me that he knew, and then I remembered that he was one of the few people in the MCU who knew my condition. "That, and I doubt that I knew him six months before I ended up in the asylum. We might have known each other, but I don't believe him."

"You think he's lying."

"I don't think. I _know_." I leaned back and picked up a fry. "I can just _sense_ that he's lying through his teeth, telling little white lies so that he isn't completely avoiding the truth. My problem is that I don't remember so I can't call him out on it, but I know and I don't like liars." I glanced at him. "At least with you, I knew you didn't trust me. You didn't try to hide it."

"Don't get on my case about me being honest now," he said, standing up. "I'll grab you a cup of coffee and then let you be."

Despite wanting so badly to continue the conversation, I mumbled a thanks and allowed him to leave. I munched on the French fries, enjoying the salt, and biting the cheeseburger to obtain protein and grease. I almost wished that Bullock had bought two burgers, but I figured that one would hold me.

Other than Bullock returning to drop off my coffee, I was left alone for another few hours. Turmoil continued to roll around in my stomach, even as I drank away at my coffee.

"You're here."

With a spear of frustration bursting from the chaos inside, I slapped down my pen and pushed back from my desk, crossing my arms over my chest and setting a heated glare at Jason, who stood in the doorway. "Where _else_ would I be?" I demanded.

"Somewhere no one could find you except your kidnapper." He stepped inside, to which I stiffened. "I'm glad you weren't."

"Did I _invite _you in?" He narrowed his eyes. "I don't need your sarcasm."

"That wasn't sarcasm."

"_Sure_, it wasn't," I said sarcastically.

"Why are you so upset?"

I fixed him with a cold stare. "What makes you think I'm upset? It's not like there's been _another_ attempt on my life. _No_, why would I be upset over that? I'm not upset; you are." He shook his head. "If anything, I'm upset over your jumping to the conclusion that I was kidnapped?"

"That woman didn't stop when I ordered her to," Jason said, his voice firm.

"Since when was that a crime?"

"She saw my badge."

"And she was taking me away from the scene, to _protect_ me from giving my attempted murderer a second chance in the _same night_."

"I could've protected you," he insisted. I scoffed mockingly. "I don't want you-."

"_Don't_. You. _Dare_." I lifted out of my chair and leaned over the desk filled with paperwork. "I will not sit here and listen to you complain about my friends. You don't have to like them-."

"Jane, I-."

"I do not _rely_ on you. I do not need your permission or your blessing to make friends. I am not a child, Hawkins."

He set his shoulders, stiffening at the use of his last name. "It's my job as your parole-."

"Listen to me, and listen to me _carefully_," I said, coldly. "I don't need your protection. I know what I'm doing. You don't need to know anything about her relationship with me."

"Yes, I do," he persisted.

"Then all you need to know is that that woman is my friend. She gave me a ride to the restaurant and gave me one home. That's _it_." Without giving him a chance to protest again, I sat down, picked up my pen, and began scribbling away again, pretending he was no longer there.

I knew he hadn't left after five minutes, and I knew he wouldn't have. Through my frustration, I sensed his, building tension in the office. It didn't take long for the tension to completely fill the room, gradually suffocating both of us. "The tension is not appreciated," I said firmly, keeping my eyes fixed on the present report.

"Will you let me speak?"

"No. I want you to leave."

He approached my desk and slammed his palms flat on the papers, stopping me from working. Angered, I lifted my gaze, meeting the intensity in his eyes.

"I don't know why you hate me so much, Jane, but-."

"_McKinley_," I corrected through my clenched teeth.

"But I had hoped we could talk over dinner."

"Well, obviously, it didn't work."

"I was there for you."

"No, you weren't. You would have noticed the difference in our waiter, whom I'm positive is the one who attempted to poison me."

"He was chased out. No one could follow him."

"You could have followed him instead of hovering over me. I _had_ someone to look after me."

"She could have been one of them." His voice rose as he spoke, his anger radiating off his form.

"You have a better chance at being 'one of them' than she does," I said, without hesitation.

He chuckled, humorlessly. "You're being ridiculous now. You think I was involved with the attempt on your life? I was trying to make it up to you, not kill you off."

"I don't believe in convenience."

Jason leaned back, shaking his head. "You're not in your right mind."

"Am I?" I asked, raising my eyebrows warningly.

"I understand you're angry, but that doesn't give you a right to accuse me of trying to kill you." My eyes narrowed. "Even with the chat we had with the appetizer, you wouldn't talk to me."

"What did you want me to talk about?" I demanded, angrily. "I'm not going to tell you every little detail of my life."

"Well, you need to talk to someone. Someone professional."

I froze. "Excuse me?" I said quietly. A rush of heat flooded through me as I lifted myself slowly from my seat. "I need to talk to someone professional?" I leaned over my desk. "Get out, Hawkins."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sending me away isn't the best-."

"You don't know a damn thing about what's best, Jason," I yelled, my anger bursting from me. "Get out of my office."

"It's not yours."

"_Get. Out!_"

Jason took an unconscious step back, blinking as he realized what he had done, but as the thought to step forward crossed his mind, I stepped around my desk and headed straight for him. Instantly, without thinking, he backed up and stepped outside, to which I made it to the door and slammed it shut in his face.

Shutting the blinds, I turned my back to the door and glared at my paperwork. "Professional help, really?" I demanded to the air. "I _hate_ him."

* * *

**Lordlink13: I hate Hawkins too, Shadow, hang in there. Don't mind me talking to my character. Hope you like. Enjoy! Read and Review!**


	19. Left To Die

Xander parked her car behind the MCU among the cops' vehicles. She sighed as she turned off the engine and set her seat back slightly, bringing her coffee to her lips. Before the steaming liquid reached its destination, her mobile rang in her pocket.

"I just _got_ here," she complained as she retrieved it. Upon seeing no number, she looked confused as she answered it. "Who is this?"

"_Is that how you answer your phone regularly, no matter who calls?"_

She recognized the callous voice. "What do you want, burlap boy?"

"_You don't want to exchange pleasantries?"_

"No. Do you?"

"_It would give me a look into how you think."_

"I don't want you knowing how my brain works. Just tell me what you want."

"_Hm…very defensive. What's on your mind?"_

Xander heaved an exasperated sigh. "One question. Why did you call me? And if it's anything to do with my mind, you're not getting it."

"_Demanding…"_

"I'll only warn you once."

"_And I'll remind you that you offered your services. Don't you remember?"_

She bit her lower lip in frustration. "Fine, I won't hang up. What do you want me to do?"

"_Continue to date Bruce Wayne."_

"Excuse me?"

"_Don't fight me on this. You know you won't win."_

"Actually, I _know_ I'll win, and you'll lose the second I hang up."

"_You said you wouldn't,"_ he replied, casually. Biting off a retort, Xander sipped her coffee. _"I heard about how you walked out on Mr. Wayne the other night."_

"Yeah, it was all over the news."

"_Did he scare you?"_

"No," Xander snapped. "I had a friend emergency; otherwise, I would've stayed."

"_Should've, would've, could've. That doesn't change the fact that you have to _apologize_ to him."_

Xander scoffed. "If you were really keeping tags on me, you'd know I already did."

"_Of course I knew."_

Xander rolled her eyes, not believing it for a second. Rubbing her face with a hand, she said, "You're really just calling me to tell me you want me to continue to 'date' Wayne."

"_You don't sound very happy."_

A retort emerged, catching on the tip of her tongue, but she resisted. She swallowed before answering, "Oh really, you are so sensitive to girls' needs."

"_I'm looking out for you."_

"As if I need you 'looking out' for me." She drank some of her coffee in thought. "Why do you want me to continue dating Wayne?"

"_My reasons are my own."_

"I don't get to know?"

"_Do I get to analyze how your mind works?"_ Xander scoffed. _"You answered your own question."_

"You're an ass."

He sounded unfazed as he said, _"Make yourself known."_

"Known?" She paused, her untrusting skepticism flooding her voice. "What do you mean 'known'?" As she looked up, she spotted Shadow leaving the MCU.

"_No doubt the media is _dying_ to find out about Mr. Wayne's new girlfriend."_

"Wait, _what_?" Her answer was the dial tone. "You hung _up_, you bastard." She tossed her phone onto the passenger's seat and gripped her steering wheel at the top, hitting her head against her hands.

The sidedoor opened, and after retrieving the cell phone, Shadow stepped inside. Xander stopped and merely rested her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You okay?" Shadow asked.

"I'm fine. Close the door." Shadow obeyed, and Xander remained in her position.

"Was it your phone call?"

Xander's hand plucked her phone out of Shadow's grip, tucking it under her thigh.

"Um…" Shadow shifted in her seat. "You want to talk about it?"

"No, but since you want to talk, tell me about your day." Xander lifted her head and started her car, pulling out of her spot quickly. Shadow remained quiet so Xander spoke up. "I'm cooking, you have dinner plans."

"Just with you, right?"

"Yeah. Who else would there be?" Xander glanced over, noticing Shadow rubbing her knuckles rapidly. "Why? You have someone in mind?"

"No-no, I prefer just you and me." Shadow looked out her window.

"I can read you. Something's bothering you." She reached over and grasped Shadow's hand, stopping her constant rubbing. "Tell me, kiddo."

Shadow rested her elbow against the window, rubbing her eyes, forehead, and face, as if hoping to divert Xander's attention on her distracted behavior. She finally covered her mouth with her fingers, cupping her chin in the rest of her hand. "It's Jason," she whispered through her fingers.

"What about asshat Jason?"

"He's been-."

"Has he been harassing you?" Xander jumped.

"When _isn't_ he harassing me?" Shadow rubbed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "He believed you were kidnapping me."

"Seriously?"

"His reasoning is, he didn't know you, and you didn't stop when he ordered you to so you're a criminal."

"What nerve."

"Tell me about it." She heaved a weary sigh. "He even had a nerve to tell me to speak to someone professional."

Xander burst with laughter as she pulled up to the curb. "I'm sorry," she said, "But what does he know about what you need? He's the reason you're stressed."

"One of many," Shadow said, stepping out of the vehicle and heading up the front stairs.

Xander quickly locked her car and hurried to catch Shadow, slipping her arm around her friend's. "No worries, I'll take care of you."

Shadow nodded wordlessly as they entered the apartment building together. As they reached the stairs, the landlady popped her head out of her door. "Oh, Jane," she called, hurriedly shuffling over to the steps. "I have this for you." She held out an envelope, which Shadow took delicately, as if expecting it to bite her. "Hello, Xander. How are you?"

"I'm well, Mrs. Wood," Xander said, politely. "And you?"

Mrs. Wood shrugged. "Good, I suppose. I had to handle a dispute amongst a few neighbors on the second floor. They complained about loud music from one of the apartments, but couldn't point out which."

"College students?"

"Two sisters. You know, our walls aren't thin, but they aren't soundproof. Neighbors on both sides complained about how loud they were, music and their high-pitched voices, screaming at each other from different ends of the apartment."

"I'm sorry," Xander said, sympathetically.

"Oh, it's settled now. I told the girls that I'd evict them if they didn't quiet down. I don't know why they are even here if their parents live close by."

"Maybe they thought that was 'away from home'."

Mrs. Wood shook her head as she heaved a weary sigh. "Youngsters, these days," she said, solemnly.

"Indeed."

"Thank you for this, Mrs. Wood," Shadow said as she headed up the stairs.

'You're welcome, Jane. I'll let you two go."

As Mrs. Wood limped back to her apartment, Xander rushed up the stairs to catch Shadow. "So, what's the letter?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

Because of Shadow's tone, Xander said, "I wasn't prying."

"I was just telling you." She paused on the third floor. "Is there anything you need from your apartment?"

"No, everything is up in yours already."

"You used the spare key, right? You didn't break-in?"

Xander laughed but fell quiet when she realized Shadow hadn't joined her. "Yes, I used the spare key," she replied.

Without a word, Shadow started up the stairs again.

"Are you sure you have everything?" Shadow asked as they entered her apartment

"I know where everything is." Xander watched as Shadow headed for her bedroom. "Where are you going?"

"I'm taking a shower," was the response before the bedroom door closed.

Frustrated, Xander began cooking the meal she had planned as a treat. Xander chopped, stirred, and sautéed things rather angrily. Before the prep work was finished, Shadow reemerged.

"Do you need any help?" she asked.

"No," Xander answered, firmly. After a minute, she glanced over her shoulder, spotting Shadow sitting at the counter, scribbling in a leather bound book. Curiosity got the better of her. "Are you planning Jason's demise?"

"Of course. He'll die slowly and painfully, buried alive with no use of his cell phone." Shadow looked up and narrowed her eyes. "Maybe soundproof the coffin and blare some kind of music he doesn't like until he dies."

"He might end up enjoying the music," Xander pointed out as she began stirring in ingredients.

"It would definitely have to be the type of music he'd rather die than listen to." Again, she paused in thought. "Or if he enjoyed it, he could sing himself to death."

"Good luck with that. He doesn't seem the singing type." Xander heard the constant scrap of the pen across the paper and waited until it stopped before saying, "I hope you like hot food."

"As in spicy?"

"I'd say it was rather mild, but I thought I'd see if you liked it before it was too hot."

"You're missing out on watching me cry."

Xander smirked. "Or not. You don't even remember if you like hot or not."

Shadow shrugged. "Either way."

Xander smiled. "What if you liked hot, but now you don't. Do things like that change?"

"I don't know." She absentmindedly rubbed her knuckles. "I suppose it could happen," she said quietly, as if talking to herself. "It was a headblow; it could have damaged taste buds and stuff."

Xander placed the lid on the pot, set aside her stirring spoon, and approached the counter across from her friend. While Shadow gazed blankly at the wall, Xander pulled her leather bound book from underneath her hand, turning it so she could see what was written.

"Do you usually just grab stuff without asking?"

"It's only notes, right?"

Shadow reached over and flipped the pages to the front cover. She pointed to a bit of handwriting. "It's my Arkham journal."

"You still use it?"

"Only to write ideas, emotions, memories." Shadow shrugged. "I simply record things."

"Anything about me?" Xander asked innocently as Shadow drew her journal back to her. She hesitated, and then, she flipped through the pages, searching for something in particular. She pushed her journal back and pointed. Once Xander read it, she smiled. "You make me smile, kiddo."

"I don't know why," Shadow muttered.

Xander reached over the counter and grasped her hand, cupping it between hers. "You don't need to know why; you just need to know that you do."

Shadow raised her blue eyes and arched an eyebrow. "Are you practicing to be the Riddler?"

"No, I prefer being me." She tapped a finger against the journal. "So, you work better with things formed in a list?"

"Don't make fun."

"I'm not making fun. It only looks like you're taking notes for a story or something." Xander grinned. "That'd be an idea."

"What?"

"Maybe whenever you remember everything, you should write it down, in story form. That way, if you lose your memory again, you can just read it."

"Ah-ha, very funny." Shadow jotted a final note and then closed the book, tapping her fingers on its cover. "When's the food going to be done?"

"Be patient. It has to simmer for two hours."

"Two hours?"

"It'll be worth the wait. Go pick out a movie, if you want." Again, Shadow raised her eyebrow. Xander leaned over the counter, giving her a challenging look. "I bet you haven't actually sat down and put your feet up after work since everything started about five days ago."

Shadow placed her elbows on the counter and dropped her face into her hands. "Not even a week…" she mumbled into her palms.

Xander moved around the island and helped her friend off her barstool. "C'mon, a movie, some food, and then you're going to bed."

"I don't sleep."

"I'll give you something for it."

* * *

_The rain pattered heavily, loudly against the umbrella over her head. She looked up, smiling sweetly to her companion, who, in turn, returned the grin. They walked side-by-side down the sidewalk, hovering closely to the buildings to avoid being splashed by cars driving through puddles and sending the water up onto the cement._

_The man slipped and stepped into a large puddle, to which she laughed. A disgusted look flashed across his face, but when he saw his companion, he smiled. He tried to shake water out of his shoe, and then gave in, stepping closer to her drenched form and wrapping an arm around her waist. "C'mon," he said gently, "We should hurry and get out of the rain."_

_She nodded, remaining by his side as they turned into an alley. As they slowed, she glanced up at him and asked teasingly, "Are you scared of a dark alley on a raining night?"_

_Her companion shook his head. "Nah, just scared of what _could_ happen in the dark alley on a raining night."_

_She smiled and slipped easily out of his grasp, skipping ahead and laughing as she outstretched her arms to the rain, as if embracing it. Her laughter echoed as she twirled. Slowing to a stop, she faced him, only to see that her companion had abandoned the umbrella and held a gun in his hand, trained on her._

_The smile died on her lips as quietly, she asked, "What's going on, Jason?"_

_Her companion's voice sounded muffled, tuning in and out with scattered words and phrases here and there. "My regret for life…I've disobeyed orders…promised to obey orders…kill you." She hesitated, and then he shot her. The bullet piercing through her side as the sound of the gunshot ricocheted off the vacant walls._

_She cried out in agony, her hand clenching her side as blood spilled through her fingers. Her companion had fled, leaving her to watch her lifeblood pooling in a puddle of water. Rain continued to fall, beating against the ground and her face._

And then, silence fell. I opened my eyes, realizing that my face lay on the mattress, my pillow tucked under my arm. I pressed two fingers against my throat, checking my pulse and finding it even. After such a dream, I expected some kind of reaction because I knew who the girl was.

Now, I understood.

I sat up and reached over for my journal, opening it to where I left my pen. I scribbled down the words: _He shot me and left me to die._

Taking my journal, I left my bedroom and walked into the living room. I spotted Xander sleeping on the couch, in the same position I had found her in her apartment, but with the television on, the volume turned down low. A genuine smile crossed my lips at the sight, remembering that she had ordered me to wake her up if I was awake. Also remembering my first experience waking her up, I headed into the kitchen and started making coffee.

The smell of it awoke her gently so instead of almost having my head blow off, I received a begging look for the first finished cup. With a small smile, I handed it over, and she sipped it, moaning with pleasure.

"Mmm, now that's what I call good coffee," she said, taking another sip. When I didn't reply, she hesitated and then looked at me over the rim of her cup. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

Rather than say it, I pushed my journal over to her. "Last entry," I said, grabbing the next cup of coffee and filling it. I took small sips, watching her expression as she read the one sentence.

"That good-for-nothing sonovabitch." Xander slammed my journal closed and faced me, her eyes burning. I didn't say anything, merely sipping at my coffee. "I love how you're not reacting."

"Why should I? It was at least four years ago." After a moment, I grabbed my journal, opened it, and wrote down _four years ago_ next to my last statement.

"And this doesn't make you want kill him?"

I shook my head. "It's just you." Xander frowned, taking a gulp of her coffee. "It sounds like something he would do. Did we expect anything less from him?"

"No," she said, grudgingly, "I guess not." She inhaled and then heaved a sigh. "Now I'm all worked up."

"You wanted to know," I pointed out, taking a sip.

"Don't rub it in my face." She finished her coffee and set the cup down before heading for the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Where are you going?"

"To get my camera. On second thought, come with."

I arched an eyebrow. "Are we going somewhere?"

"Outside. Maybe to a park or something. Learning Jason's a douche has only made my blood boil. I need to do something." She glanced over her shoulder. "And you could use some fresh air."

Since I had no other option, I finished off my coffee, headed for the door, paused, grabbed my gun, and followed her out.

We went to Hyde Park for pictures. Generally, I sat on a bench and watched as Xander took close-ups and wide views of the park, sometimes catching children on the playground. I soon discovered that looking away from her ended up with her taking a photo of me, no matter what expression I had or what position I sat in. She made the comment that I was photogenic and that I appeared very deep in thought, to which I had no response but to look away, providing her another "deep" photo.

After about an hour, Xander handed me a ten dollar bill. I glanced at it and then lifted my gaze to her. "Trying to remind me of how we met?" I asked her.

"Sorry, should I have waited until you had coffee in your hand?" I smiled. "No, go get yourself something to eat, kiddo. It would help with your shakiness." I glanced at my hand holding the money, realizing that she was right; my hand was shaking. "Protein," she said, "And grab me a Diet Coke, if you wouldn't mind."

I nodded and then headed for the convenience store across the street.

I opened the freezer door and reached in, plucking a Diet Coke and a Sprite from the shelf. As I closed the door, I looked up and caught sight of a man watching me. I lowered my gaze to my soda, pretending to read the label, as I used my peripheral vision. He stood only a few aisles away from me, but he wasn't trying to hide the fact that he was watching me, like he _wanted_ a confrontation.

I replaced the Sprite and lowered the Diet Coke to my side as I turned and headed toward the candy aisle, the one next to his. I tried not to seem too obvious, but I glanced up at the upper shelf of candy to watch the man. Peripheral vision is limited; you can't see enough detail to recognize the person, or thing you were looking at. So I had no other option; I raised my gaze.

The man had just turned; I could see less than half of his face, but it was enough. It would _always_ be enough. Dirty blond hair pulled back into a very small ponytail was _definitely_ out of character. Smooth looks, except for the ragged scar darting up from the corner of his mouth…

Narrowing my eyes, I abandoned the idea of getting some candy, grabbed a packet of crackers, and nearly stormed out of the store without paying. After the girl behind the desk handed me my change, I left the convenience store, knowing he would follow me; I knew he couldn't _resist_.

My pace was quick, but I didn't need to worry that he would lose me. I didn't _want_ him to, not until I was ready.

I reached a crowded corner, with people waiting impatiently for the lights to stop traffic for them to walk, and I slipped into the crowd. Luckily, most of the people were taller than I so I could disappear. I had just slipped out of the group as the one following me stopped near the edge of the crowd, looking slightly annoyed. He pushed forward to find me, but I was standing behind him, with my gun pressed into his back, causing him to halt.

"You feel that?" I asked, quietly near his ear. I had to stand on my toes to reach it, but when he nodded, his scar moving slightly as he grinned, I dropped, confident he'd heard me. "You see the coffee shop across the street, a little ways down?" He nodded. "There's a small alley beside it. Go there, and no sudden moves." He shrugged carelessly.

I didn't think I had to warn him, but it made me feel more in control by saying it.

The light changed, allowing the pedestrians to cross. I followed my stalker across the road and toward the coffee shop. I fell back as he reached the alley and turned into it. Turning, I hid my gun beneath my jacket flap as I checked the ammo. I hadn't changed it for a few days, but I had enough to kill him and any wandering goons who followed him, if necessary.

I straightened and took a deep breath before I followed him into the alley.

He waited for me, leaning his side against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. The alley provided a shadowy cover that hid his face, but I knew who he was and what he looked like, both masked and unmasked.

I approached him at a steady pace and was on him quickly. He didn't even flinch as I grabbed a handful of his button-up shirt, shoving him flat into the wall. "You _fail_ at disguises, _Joker_."

"You were, ah, _supposed_ to recognize me, De-_tec_-tive," he giggled.

I leaned in as I yanked him toward me, until we were face-to-face. "Listen, I don't know _why_ you're here, but I can't _afford_ having some criminal like _you_ on my tail."

The Joker narrowed his eyes slightly. "You must be mis-_tak_-ing me for someone else," he said, seriously. "I only wanted to see and talk to you."

"Well, you see me. And our _talk_ is done." I released him and started walking away.

"Why is Gordon hiding you, Detective?" he called after me. "Because I can see that you're a _lot_ more valuable to him. Is he _protecting_ you from someone?"

I stopped and heaved an exasperated sigh. Turning on my heel, I faced him, seeing him grinning triumphantly. "What do you want?" I asked.

"Answer my question first," he argued.

I crossed my arms over my chest, tapping my foot, trying to glare him down. He chuckled quietly and matched my gaze, smirking confidently. If he wanted competition, now wasn't the time. I had to back down.

"He's probably protecting me from _you_. After all, it's just you, Penguin, and Scarecrow still active on the streets."

"Penguin's not for the streets."

"So I've heard."

"So you _know_. Batsy uses him for information, the only reason he hasn't been thrown into Blackgate." The Joker shrugged, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets casually.

I shifted. Maybe he'd be willing to tell me Scarecrow's movements. It couldn't hurt to gather information for whoever was on Scarecrow's case. "There's no danger for me with the Penguin."

"He has his own wenches," the Joker replied. "Same with Scarecrow. Well, he _did_ have Raven."

The name rang a bell in my mind, and an image of Dr. Young's face flashed across my vision. Raven was Teresa Young's criminal name; she worked for Scarecrow. The information simply came back to me without needing any force. "And you," I said, "Seems like you've replaced me."

A wince flashed across his unpainted face. My eyes narrowed. I didn't know if he hoped to get me back with this confrontation, but he wouldn't succeed, not if I could help it.

"That's not why you're here, is it?"

His behavior turned from relaxed to edgy. He shifted his weight, his tongue sliding out over his scarred lips. He worked his jaw, chewing on his scars and moving his eyes constantly. I waited for him to speak, but he appeared…uncomfortable.

Giving up, I turned and headed for the street. I heard his sudden movement behind me, and I stopped but didn't turn this time. "I don't know why you wanted to talk to me, Joker, but if I had to guess…it would be that you want me back. You're not getting me back. You don't need me," I told him. "Harley Quinn is _perfect_ for a guy like you." I started walking again, and this time, he made no movement to follow.

* * *

**Lordlink13: A Joker/Shadow confrontation finally. Hold in there, readers. They might not meet as often as you'd like, but it's coming, no worries. Read and Review!**


	20. Girl in the Closet

The second confrontation with the Joker had sent me on edge. It appeared that he always knew where I was, knew exactly the right place to be at the right time. Even though this was only the second time I crossed paths with him, it unnerved me to think that he probably has been tracking me – whether it was him or his henchman _Bleak_, whom I still suspected for working with the insane clown.

I walked briskly back toward Hyde Park. The powerwalk burned the fiery anger from my blood, and as I approached Xander, I noticed she was angrily conversing with someone on her phone. It was turning out to be a 'get-the-girls-angry' day.

I sat down on the bench nearby, waiting for her to finish up. I attempted to eavesdrop, but once she spotted me, she gave the receiver a quick retort and then hung up.

"A stalker?" I asked, raising an eyebrow when she marched over and took the Diet Coke from my hand. She plopped down beside me and cracked open the bottle, taking a swig from it. "Whoa, slow down."

"No," she said and gulped down another mouthful of fizzy soda.

"I'm glad you don't drink something stronger."

"Now and then, I will, but I'm a mean drunk so generally, I leave it to soda and coffee." She took a smaller mouthful and swished it around in her mouth. "I hate guys."

"Me too."

Xander gave me a sidelook. "Jason, right?"

I hesitated, and then nodded. Even though he wasn't the main reason, he was definitely _part_ of the reason.

Xander leaned back, resting her arm on the back of the bench. "Why do we bother with them?"

"No clue." Then, I chuckled softly.

"What's so funny?"

"I've come up with a few ideas, actually."

"Spill," she ordered before drinking some more soda.

"Among the PG-13 ideas, we want to be held, loved, and cared for. Someone to kiss, someone to hug, someone to warm us on cold nights, someone to try and please us."

"You're a romantic, aren't you?"

"Not really, but I've had my fill of bad boys."

"I'd compare with you, but I doubt you remember."

"I do know about Jason and the clown."

"Ah, the Joker…" Xander became quiet for a few moments, sipping at her soda. "He's a loser."

"Bold words."

"I could say worse about him." I laughed, and she smirked, climbing to her feet. "C'mon, I'm gonna bring you home."

"Where are you going?" I asked, hurrying to catch up with her.

"I have an appointment to keep."

"You didn't remember until now?"

"No, it was made on the phone."

"He didn't ask if you were free?"

"He never does. Just demands."

"Boyfriend?"

"Hell, no."

"Some nerve."

"Tell me about it."

Xander dropped me off at home and then drove off to her appointment. Figuring I might have had enough air, I went inside and popped in a movie. I warmed up some leftover curry and made myself comfortable on the couch, hoping that I would be able to fall asleep afterward.

It didn't happen so I popped in a second movie. About halfway through, I gave up and turned off the television. I wandered into my bedroom and sat at my desk, heaving a sigh. I noticed the manila folder on the side, realizing that I still hadn't read the contents.

I leaned back in my chair and opened the folder. There wasn't much inside, just a few pieces of paper with scribbled notes. It didn't even look professional until the last few pages, where it actually looked like Arkham records. Glancing over the information, the suspect – a man named Peter Sullivan – was a schizophrenic who has been on the run for the past three years. He was said to have joined up with the Joker when the Clown Prince of Crime first started terrorizing the city.

I narrowed my eyes. It would've interested Hawkins; he wanted the Joker – even though he wasn't on the case – and was trying to target one of the Joker's henchmen. But who knew if the man was still alive?

I flipped through the pages, reading some of the scribbled notes. There was one that caught my attention with a single phrase: "the harmless being that exists in light and dark." Curious, and confused, I read the paragraph, reading it and realizing it was a riddle.

"It is, and it is not. It is here, but it is not. It is this, and it is that. It covers the green-eyed one. It is vigilant, brightly colored, overseen by a personage of brilliance. It is guardian. It seeks the harmless being that exists in light and dark. Diligent, it comes, for fear of rivalry. It wants one thing, but wants not another. One it is; multiple it is not, but it is. The bird in is its preparation, unless feather plucked."

Shaking my head, I wondered why the riddle wasn't in the Riddler's folder. "Harmless being that exists in light and dark," I murmured under my breath. "A shadow…or me?" I looked over the riddle again. Whatever 'it' is, it was seeking me.

Creepy…

I removed the paper to find the picture of the guy stapled to the folder. The moment I looked at it, a spike of fear shot through me.

It wasn't his dark hair or dark eyes that caught my attention, or my memory. It was his facial expression, the lack of emotion. Nothingness resided in his eyes as he stared at the camera. I felt as though he could see right through me, could see all my secrets and know my identity. It scared me.

I recognized him to be the replacement for the waiter yesterday evening. Realizing that it had only been last night, I closed the folder and shoved it away from me. I debated going to sleep, but the debate didn't last long; I didn't want to have night terrors about Peter Sullivan coming to bash my head in with a bat.

Instead, I went into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, but decided against the coffee and simply going for hot chocolate. If I could get some rest, I didn't want caffeine in my system.

After grabbing a cup of hot chocolate, I booted up my laptop, using a special security wall to cover my hacking into the police's database. It was a roundabout way, but I didn't want the MCU to know who and what I was researching, not that I had any idea. I didn't want any more information on Peter Sullivan, and I had to get him out of my mind. Instead, I thought of Xander and remembered how I didn't know her past yet. If I looked her up, I could know, and since I had my security wall up, Jason wouldn't be alerted. Last thing I needed from him is his badgering me more about how I should know my "friends" better.

As I clicked on the search bar, a pang of guilt washed through me. It wasn't from my roundabout, _illegal_ way of accessing police files. That was the _least_ of my problems. No, I felt guilty for attempting to research my friend's past, rather than asking her personally.

Deep down, I hoped with all my heart that she didn't have terrible skeletons in her closet; I knew she was a criminal, like myself, but I didn't know what she specialized in. The sense of dread was overbearing as I typed in her name, changing 'Xander' to 'Alexandra'.

The list was long. I checked for criminal records and reports. Even narrowed down, it'd take me a good few hours to locate her, _if_ she had records.

Slightly relieved by the list – with a sliver of hope that I wouldn't find her – I scrolled down, glancing at the results, also narrowing it down again to Gotham City and its neighboring cities.

Unfortunately, the dread slaughtered the hope, and I clicked on a random result.

[Alexandra Eccleston, age 25, a professional assassin, weapon of choice: sniper rifle. Originated: Los Angeles, California.]

The picture was definitely her.

Scrolling down, I clicked on the link to her case files. A "Missing Persons" report had been filed for her ten years ago when she was fifteen. She reappeared three years later, setting up a rape case against an infamous Mobster named Michael Skorkan.

Two pictures sat side-by-side, one of Xander at fifteen, the other at eighteen. A painful whimper escaped my lips as I stared at the first one. I recognized her.

_The two men faced off. One stood calm, his hand clenching the handle of his wooden cane firmly. He was tidy and clean-shaven, dressed in a tuxedo. The other quivered in his old boots, appearing rugged with his untidy beard and pants patched at the knees. I stood beside the neat man, my hands clasped behind my back, feet shoulder-length apart, back straight, a quiet and obedient soldier with no expression._

"_I've been generous and have given you extra time to pay me back," the tidy man stated. "I trusted you to pay me in full."_

"_I have some of it," the rugged man pleaded, his eyes constantly shifting nervously. "I'll give it to you. I need more time for-."_

"_I believe I've given you enough time, Tony."_

"_Please, Michael, I can get it!"_

"_I want full payment today, Tony," Michael snarled, angrily. He brought his cane before him, hands resting on the handle. The other man eyed the cane warily and flinched as Michael, in a calm voice, said, "You have two options, Tony. Give me the full payment now, or I'll have your life as payment."_

"_I can't pay you," the rugged man said, despairingly. "I can't, not with money."_

"_Then I ask for your life."_

"_No, wait!" he protested, falling to the ground, begging. As he reached for Michael's pant leg, the tidy man struck his reaching hand with his cane. The man cried in pain. "I have a wife!" he sobbed._

"_Your wife won't suffice. She is old and contaminated by you, no doubt. I've seen her around you. I will not take-."_

"_My daughter! You can have my daughter! She's young, pretty, and will no doubt satisfy you."_

_My hands clenched, a subconscious reaction breaking through my stoical appearance._

_Michael looked down upon the desperate man. I felt his gaze flicker over me, searching for some reaction, but I had resumed to my prior position, my emotions hidden behind the stoical expression. Finally, after a moment, Michael's gaze returned to Tony. "A daughter, you say. How old?"_

"_Fifteen."_

_Michael continued to stare down upon the rugged man for a few moments, watching carelessly as Tony shook with fear, his entire body trembling violently. "Bring her to me," he finally said, "I want to see for myself."_

"_Yes, right away," Tony exclaimed, stepping backwards toward the door._

"_If she isn't satisfactory," Michael said after him, "You will pay your debt with your life." Tony ran out of the room._

I clenched my head tightly, a stab of pain shooting through it as the flashback moved forward.

_The girl stood there silently as Michael circled her, like a predator stalking his prey. Her eyes remained on the floor, her brown hair covering most of her face. When Michael touched her shoulder, she flinched and shrunk away from him._

"_Very timid," Michael remarked, smirking at the girl's father. He didn't catch the angry glare the girl flashed behind her hair, a look that scared me even though I wasn't the recipient._

_The girl averted her eyes before Michael's attention returned, and she spotted me. Our eyes met, and something passed between us, a mutual understanding that wouldn't ever be spoken aloud._

"_Consider your debt paid, Tony," Michael said, stroking the girl's hair. "She appears _quite_ satisfactory."_

_The air around the girl heated suddenly. Before my eyes, she spun violently and spat in Michael's face._

_My mouth dropped in disbelief._

_Michael didn't even look at the girl as he backhanded her. He hit her so hard that she stumbled and collided with the wall, collapsing in a heap. Breaking from my stiff position, I hurried to her side, unafraid of Michael for the first time._

_Tony cried out in pain and I glanced over my shoulder to see Michael corner him against the door._

_I turned my attention back to the girl, jumping slightly when I saw she was watching me. In a barely audible whisper, I asked, "Are you okay?"_

_She shook her head and pushed herself up. I grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet._

_I heard the door close violently and turned my head. With a crack, I fell to the ground, stinging agony on my cheek. He moved to hit me again, raising his cane over his head. The girl grabbed hold of the cane and tried to wrestle it from him. He proved stronger, ripping it out of her grasp and whacked her across the face again._

"_Stop!" I protested, breaking my silence. "Don't hurt her!"_

_Michael spun on me, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet. "She is none of your concern," he breathed in my face._

"_Don't hurt her," I yelled, repulsed by him._

"_I will do what I want."_

"_No! I won't let you!"_

_He backhanded me and then pulled me over to the closet. I fought him, but he was too strong. He tossed me in, closed, and locked the door. I banged on the solid wood, screaming at him, until I heard the girl scream._

"No, stop," I whimpered, gripping my head tighter as tears filled my eyes.

_I yelled at Michael to stop, but he merely laughed, inducing another scream from the girl. There was a scramble on the other side of the door; I knew the girl was fighting, even as she was screaming at him to stay away from her._

_She couldn't win. I heard the crack of his cane, the girl collapsing on the ground, the tearing of clothes, and Michael preparing himself._

_The girl didn't stop fighting, but there wasn't any chance of her escape. Her cries of agony broke my heart. I tried the door, kicking and punching it until my hands bled, but it wouldn't yield. Tears streamed down my face, my own cries sounding alongside the girl's._

_It lasted for too long, a never-ending torment. The girl's screams became nothing more than whimpers, as though she had given up and surrendered herself._

_At long last, Michael opened the closet door and knelt before me. I looked up at him through tearstained eyes, painfully taking note of his skewed tie, disheveled hair, missing jacket, and his eyes burning with hunger barely satisfied. He grabbed my arm in a painful grip and yanked me out of the closet. I hit the ground with a heavy thud, all strength sapped from me._

"_Look," Michael said. I kept my eyes on the ground. "Look now!" he ordered, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my head up. Through tear-filled eyes, I looked at the motionless form across the floor. He leaned in close to my ear, panting heavily. "If you hadn't spoken," he said coolly, "She wouldn't have had to suffer. What do you have to say for yourself?"_

_I bit my lower lip, afraid to speak; I didn't want to cause the girl more damage than I've already caused._

_Michael's foot connected hard with my side. I cried out as I rolled, only to be whacked hard with the cane. He asked me again what I had to say, but I kept my mouth shut, refusing to speak. Michael's hits grew more painful as he lost it, kicking and whacking me over and over again. I endured it, the thought of the girl's safety the only thing on my mind._

_Finally, he ceased to strike me and left without another word. The door clicked behind him, and the girl and I were alone._

_Shakily, despite the bruises and blood, I crawled over to the girl, strength slowly returning as I neared her. She sobbed quietly, weak and scared. Her ordeal would change her for life, I knew, and it was my fault. I pushed myself up and sat beside her, not close enough to touch. She shivered, fighting to control her sobs, and I slipped out of my jacket, wincing with pain. The girl cried out with the sudden weight, jerking away as if it was going to attack her._

"_It's okay," I whispered, my voice dead. "It's only my jacket." She turned her head, gazing at me with tearstained eyes, the conflict of whether or not to trust me raging within them. I averted my gaze, unable to look her in the eyes. "It's okay for you to hate me," I told her quietly. "It's my fault that he's done this to you. I shouldn't have spoken…"_

"Stop! No!" I yelled, slamming my hands down on the desk. My mug clattered violently on the tabletop, startling me out of my rising panic. The idea struck me so fast it felt like my head spun.

I hurried down to her apartment, hoping that she was there and I could get this urge over with, but as I reached the door, I realized she had left the moment she dropped me off. Despite knowing it was futile at this hour, I checked the rooftop before heading down to the street. I had to find some connection to her, and unfortunately, the only one that came to mind was to locate the most wanted criminal mastermind, the Joker. Oh…joy…

* * *

"Hey, you two! Get back to work!"

The two clowns stopped fighting over the duffel bag, and after exchanging glares, they lumbered off to their duties.

Dean shook his head and glanced over his shoulder. "You know, for a guy who isn't big on money, you sure do go after it quite a bit, especially the non-existent Mob."

The Joker shrugged. "The Mob will _always_ exist, Bleak," he said. "Besides, this one owed me."

"That's what you said when you put a bullet through his head."

"His life wasn't, ah, _worth_ much." The Joker squinted behind his mask. "Van, now."

Dean nodded and called to the others. He knew what was going to happen to the men who piled out of the employee entrance, each carrying two bags. The Joker tossed his in first and sidestepped, Dean quickly following his example. Dean followed the Joker as they wandered back from the van, allowing the clowns to fill it up with their duffels. When the Joker did, Dean obediently pulled out his sidearm and aimed at one of the unsuspecting clowns, squeezing the trigger.

"Hey, you!"

Startled, Dean glanced over his shoulder, locating the yeller behind him. He smiled behind his clown mask at the sight of Shadow. Beside him, the Joker half-turned and dramatically took off his clown mask, revealing his paint face and the grin that stretched across his scarred lips as Shadow headed straight for him. "Well, well, finally decided to, ah, show, De-_tec_-tive?" he asked.

"Shut up," she snapped, slowing to a stop before him. A good three feet between them, Dean noted; she still doesn't trust him. "I didn't come for you," Shadow said.

Dean muffled a chuckle while the Joker grunted, disapprovingly. "You have given me one nasty scar right here." He crossed a finger over his heart.

"You'll live," she replied, curtly.

His eyes narrowed. "Not a social call, huh?"

"Again, I didn't come for you." Dean heard the impatience in her voice. She had the determined glint in her eye; she had something in mind and was determined to get it. He was curious; what would she want so badly that she'd come to the Joker for it?

"Who then?" the Joker asked.

"Xander." Dean frowned; he had warned her away from that woman. Why was she so determined to locate her?

The Joker frowned, clearly not happy. "Why her?"

"Are you complaining?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Me? Complain?" She smacked him, which made him laugh. "Impatient, are we?"

"Where is Xander?" she demanded, her tone hard. "And don't lie to me and say you don't know because I _know_ you have eyes and ears all around this city." Her eyes shifted to Dean, and the vivid blaze in her eyes sent a cold shiver down his spine. It was only for a moment, but it was enough for him to know that she had recognized him and _knew_.

The Joker's laughter stopped. Dean glanced over at him, seeing that several thoughts were crossing the Clown Prince's mind. Was he going to continue to torment her and never give her the information? Surely, he would do that due to his disappointment about her coming to him only for Xander's location.

Shadow started taping her foot, her impatience and irritability growing with every passing second. "Well?" she prompted. The Joker stepped forward, to which she took a step back, keeping the three feet distance between them. Dean considered taking the weapon in his hand away from him, but he didn't want to risk setting the Clown Prince off while Shadow was standing there.

Finally, the Joker said something, so quietly that Dean could catch it, but Shadow did.

"Thank you," she said, curtly before turning and walking away, disappearing without a trace around the corner.

"What was that about?" one clown asked another.

"I don't know, but she was really cute."

Without looking, the Joker shot the clown in the head. Dean looked in time to see the dead man collapse to the ground, the others stepping away from him like he was the plague. The one who had spoken first moved the farthest, trembling slightly, like he thought the Joker would shoot him next.

Dean smiled behind his mask and then ordered the clowns to finish loading the van. As they scrambled to get back to work, he checked the Joker. The Clown Prince was still staring after Shadow.

* * *

I shouldn't do it, but I had to. It gnawed at me, ever since the idea came to mind. Without thinking, I had followed through, and now here I was, standing in the park, maybe twenty feet from where Xander was standing, snapping photos of buildings along the street.

My feet had taken root; I couldn't move until I actually thought this out. But there wasn't anything to think about; I had to do it, that much I knew. I had only known Xander for five days, but I had known her before, when we were both younger, ten years ago. Whether she remembered me or not, I had to say the one thing that I must have buried deep inside me that was now bursting to come out.

If I said it, and she remembered, I didn't know what to expect. Our friendship, as far as I knew, was stronger than any other relationship I have had since I left Arkham. It didn't matter that she was a criminal and I a cop. Since the night up on the rooftop, I felt…_free_. I finally had someone who understood where I was coming from, and only just now did I understand where she was coming from, sort of.

Even if it means that she decides to kill me after I've said it. The loss of a budding friendship would hurt more, but it was a risk I had, and needed, to take.

Finally, I lifted my feet and started forward.

Xander snapped a photo and glanced at her screen. Whether it was convenience or not, she turned her head, spotting me as I approached. Surprise appeared on her face, but hanging her camera around her neck, she greeted me. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," I said, neutrally.

"I had to be honest. What brings you here?"

"I have something to tell you."

Her lips tightened upon hearing the urgency in my voice. "Sounds bad."

"It could be, and in my opinion, it just might be." I finally reached her, coming to a halt before her. Exhaling, I continued. "But I need to say it. I'm sorry."

Xander raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"I remembered," I said quietly.

"What are you talking about?"

I looked her in the eyes, realizing that this was the deciding moment. My fear threatened to overcome me, but I pushed it back. "Xander…I was the girl in the closet."

Xander's face froze. Time also stopped as my heart pounded furiously in my ears. She didn't say a word to me, simply turned and left, heading straight for the street. First thought, she was going to walk directly in front of a car in a suicide attempt. Second thought, as I realized she was heading for her car, she was going for a gun, to kill me. I debated following her, to at least stop her for the first thought, but what could I do that I haven't already?

Xander unlocked her car and climbed in, placing her camera on the passenger seat. She turned, to reverse out of the spot, and did it quickly, cutting off a taxi and nearly hitting it before she sped away and out of sight.

I stood there, frozen in place yet again. Only one question ran through my otherwise empty mind: what damage had I caused?

I found out what I had caused that night at work.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Oh snap, there's Xander's past; what damage had Shadow caused? And Shadow willingly, but reluctantly, sought for the Joker. I don't think the Joker enjoyed that, her coming for Xander's location and not him. Well, I guess we'll see, won't we? Read and Review.**


	21. Pasts Remerging

"Forty-seven people shot last night," Bullock said, throwing down the reports. "All in the head! All around Gotham!"

"Looks like we have a new crazy on the loose," Nash stated. "A sniper from the rooftops."

"What makes you think that?" Murphy asked.

"Look at the photos. The entrance and exit of the bullet, or at least the angle. Could only have been someone from above the victims' heads."

They bent over the photos, comparing them and analyzing them. Judging comments passed between the detectives, but I had no part in it. I stood silently in the doorway for a short time before stealing away, unable to listen anymore. None of them noticed.

I hid in my office, forcing myself to work on paperwork. It gave me something to focus on, but the overbearing guilt weighed down my heart.

"Half an hour left," I muttered to myself, dropping my pen on the desk. I rubbed my stinging eyes, trying to clear my vision of the black spots. My head pounded savagely, and my neck and shoulders hurt from sitting in the same position for hours.

There was a knock on my door, and I looked up wearily as Nash stuck his head in.

"I didn't interrupt anything, did I?" he asked.

"Even if you had, I would have welcomed it."

He nodded. "Mind if I join you?"

"Please do." I needed some company besides the paperwork. "And shut the door behind you."

He did and sat across from me, sliding a mug over the desktop. "I made you coffee."

"I appreciate it." I wrapped my hands around the mug, hoping the heat would soothe the ache in my fingers. "Is it just me or is this spring colder than usual?"

"Colder than usual," Nash replied, sipping his coffee. "But it's warmer than last spring."

"Mr. Freeze, I'm guessing."

"Correct. You read his files?"

"Any file I could get my hands on, I've read."

"What about your own?"

I shook my head, smiling slightly. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who understand I was once a criminal and didn't mind. "Only a condensed one."

He gave a curt nod. "You didn't stick around for the Sniper case."

"I had work to do." I motioned to the stack of paperwork that I still had to fill-out, finally smaller than the other stack of what I had finished.

"I think it's more, but I won't press. Whatever your reason, it's probably a good one." He leaned back in his chain and rested his leg on his knee. "I figured I'd warn you though. We've got a new detective."

"Who?"

"Detective Andrew Tew. He's from New York City, got on a plane as soon as he heard about the Sniper killings."

"Am I supposed to know who he is? And how did he hear about the killings while in New York?"

"The primary and only detective on the Sniper case. He's been monitoring the news of the entire country. Apparently, the Sniper showed up in New York first, and Tew has been following her around the country for at least five years, which he is wrong since she originated from Los Angeles." Nash took a moment, squinting his eyes. "You know, for a guy who's supposed to be primary and on top of this case, he really doesn't know much about who he's following."

"She?" I asked, playing on the innocent act.

"Her name's Alexandra Eccleston, goes by Xander."

Researching her was proving to be a good thing, despite all the damage it had caused, forty-seven innocent lives… "Any aliases?"

"Plenty, but none have been used for two years." Nash shrugged. "She probably gave up hiding her identity. And I wouldn't blame her."

"Why, though? She gives up a chance to be hidden."

"Wait until you meet Tew."

"You don't like him?" I asked.

Nash gave me a look. "This guy can track the Sniper down, no matter what alias she uses. She hides better when she uses her real name, until she snipes nearly fifty people in two, three hours."

"Quite an announcement."

"More like a holler to Tew. I'd bet my next paycheck that she enjoys dragging him around the country. He probably has to get a part-time job to raise finances for his tracking her down."

A quick rap announced someone at the door. Nash opened it, and Ramirez said, "Bullock wants you in the conference room, McKinley."

"I'll be there," I said immediately.

"Your turn to meet Tew," Nash teased.

"Shut your mouth," I told him, grinning.

Detective Tew was rather easy on the eyes, which instantly set me on the red-alert. He had a sharp jaw, slick black hair that appeared greased back, and dark green eyes. By the looks of it, his clothing was expensive, for a detective, which _screamed_ 'rich'. He obviously traveled a lot, and even the best clothing would begin to reveal its wear after some time.

Bullock introduced us, and Tew extended his hand. "Pleasant to meet you," he said, his voice deep and disarming. I didn't reach for his hand, keeping mine at my sides. If he thought that flirting with me would win me over, he was wrong.

I gave him a curt nod and turned my attention to Bullock, seeing Tew's scowl in my peripheral vision. It was really not difficult to categorize him: rich and arrogant.

"Is this all you wanted me for, Bullock?" I asked, purposing ignoring Tew's existence. I read his personality easily and knew that my rejection to speak to him had offended him.

Bullock nodded, unable to speak. The corners of his mouth twitched, fighting the urge to smile. I bowed my head slightly and spun on my heel, leaving the room. Stopping right outside, as the door closed slowly behind me, I heard Tew say, "I can't believe you have such rude ruffians running this dump", only to have Bullock snap back with, "Shut up. This is our base, not yours, so you better tread carefully in this 'dump', rich boy."

Five minutes later, the Commissioner called me into his office. "Am I in trouble?" I asked, rapping on the doorframe.

"Depends on how this goes," Gordon stated. He motioned to the seat across him, and I shook my head.

"I've been sitting all day. Standing is fine with me."

He accepted this with a nod. "Detective Tew has been here for an hour and has already come to me with complaints about our system."

"Such as?"

"He isn't allowed access to our files," – I could guess who wouldn't allow that – "No one but Hawkins has shown any curtsey towards him. Bullock, Stephens, and Murphy have already warned him against messing with any of the detectives in the unit and to watch what he says. He's quite peeved with you."

"He probably smells the ex-criminal on me," I said, indifferently. "How he smells anything but his hair gel and cologne, I wouldn't know."

Despite how serious he had been, Gordon smiled. "You're not impressed."

"Not in the slightest. He's got the boys on edge, and I can see him stepping over the line."

"What do you think of him?"

"Honestly?" The Commissioner nodded. "As far as I can tell, he's a rich boy playing detective who's used to everyone doing everything his way."

"Do you trust him?"

"Absolutely not."

"Good, because I was partnering you up with him."

I gave him a look. "You've _got_ to be kidding."

"No, I'm not," he responded, with a perfect poker face. "You handle Hawkins on a daily basis fairly well. Tew shouldn't be much different."

"If I may speak freely, Commissioner," I said, stepping forward, placing my hands on his desk, and leaning forward, "There'll be _plenty_ of differences. Hawkins couldn't leave me alone because he was constantly worried about my safety and my exposure to criminals. Even the outside _world_. Tew will be the same, only in the aspect of not begin able to leave me alone. He'd have his eyes on me at all times and will argue with me every step of the way."

"Set him in his place." I stared at him, startled. "I'm being serious, McKinley."

"Commissioner-."

"You earned your status here, Detective McKinley. With the exception of torture and murder, do what you will to keep Tew in line. And Bullock wouldn't mind backing you up if you need support."

I grinned, straightening. "I'll keep that in mind, but I think I can handle him."

"I know you can."

I nodded, accepting his trust. After a moment, I asked, "So, who is on the Joker case?"

Gordon's face didn't falter. His smile dropped, but I knew he wouldn't become angry with me for asking. "Lieutenant Hawkins," he said, watching me closely for my reaction. I gave none. "Do you want to guess why?"

"Playing games with me now, Commissioner?" I asked with a straight face and flat tone. His grin returned. "Very well, I'll oblige you. He has a personal grudge to settle."

"I'm _really_ curious as to why you didn't become a detective before deciding to become a criminal, McKinley."

This time, I shrugged. "Couldn't tell you. Don't know. Why did Hawkins want the Joker case, out of curiosity?"

"The Joker wounded his pride." Gordon sighed, suddenly reluctant to explain, but after a few moments, he went on. "The GCPD had a fundraiser that the Joker decided to interrupt. Jason tried shooting him, but he was protected. Alone, Jason didn't stand a chance; I'm just grateful the Joker didn't shoot him when he had the chance."

"The Joker wasn't caught?" I asked, my brow frowning with confusion. "If the police were having the fundraiser, surely there were plenty of cops to take on the Joker and his men."

Gordon's eyes caught mine, and a tremor ran up my spine. Something in his eyes haunted me, made me feel guilty, but I didn't know why. "The Joker had planned this raid out. The waiters were _also_ his men so he did outnumber us by a few people." He watched me, possibly for a reaction, but I responded with a shrug.

After a few seconds, he heaved a deep sigh and stood, turning and looking out his office window, hands clasped behind his back.

That was when it hit. Pain shot up the back of my neck and into my head, like an electric shock. I blinked against the tears that sprang into my eyes, but when I cleared them, a light flashed across my vision, momentarily blinking me.

"_Put your gun down, Jane," a familiar voice ordered. I turned and spotted Jason, seeing a crowd of people behind him. I had a gun aimed at his chest. He took slow steps toward me, his eyes focused on mine._

"_You _know_ him?" the unforgettable husky voice asked behind me._

"_Oh, do I _know_ him." The words came from my lips in an angry growl. "Stop where you are, Lieutenant."_

_Jason halted. "You're not in the situation to be making demands, Jane." He spoke calmly, his eyes darting to the man behind me before returning to me. "Give up, Jane."_

_Rage coursed through my veins. Inhaling sharply, I tried to keep it under control. "The name's no longer Jane," I said, in a cold whisper. "It's _Shadow_."_

_The rage snapped out of my grasp. Tossing my gun across, I lunged at him, throwing blows at him. He was startled by my sudden rampage, backing down to try to defend himself. Anger and hatred overwhelmed my rational thought. I threw all I had at him. With a left hook, I knocked him down and took his gun from his belt, pointing it at his head._

_Mere seconds later, someone came behind me, placing firm hands on my shoulders and pulling me around from Jason. Four masked clowns surrounded him, one knocking him out with the butt of his gun before the four of them dragged him away, the crowd of people moving out of the way, rather than help Jason._

"_You okay?" the husky voice asked, whispering into my ear. I was shaking. Jason's gun slipped from my finger, dropping to the floor, and my knees buckled. The Joker caught me, wrapping an arm around my waist and turned me around to face him. Looking at him, I saw concern in his expression._

As fast as it had come, the scene evaporated. Pain shot through the nape of my neck again, and my head throbbed. I applied pressure against my forehead as a pounding headache emerged. Closing my eyes, I inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to ease the pain.

"You okay?" Gordon asked, his voice almost sounding like the Joker's to my ears.

I opened my eyes to see him looking at me with concern. "Yeah, I was just thinking. Should I be worried that Jason might decide to chase the Joker while we're after Poison Ivy?"

"No. He might be tempted, but you can keep him in line." He winked, and I smiled, trying to hide that I was in agony.

Leaving Gordon's office, I felt slightly lightheaded, needing to place a hand to the wall as I took deep breaths. I didn't need to pass out because of a memory.

Thankfully, I didn't pass anyone on the way back to my office. I collapsed into my chair, placinging my head between my knees, focusing on my breathing. After a few minutes, I felt more centered so I got up and grabbed a glass of water.

Swishing the water around my mouth, I thought of the memory, bringing it to the front of my mind. I held no doubt about its truth. It had definitely been a flashback of the police fundraiser that I had indeed crashed alongside the Joker. It always came down to me working for him, whether I was in love with him at that point or not.

I simply shook my head. I didn't want to think about the clown. I was tired, and all I wanted was to go home. With Xander still angry with me, I would have a twenty-minute walk to clear my head.

Making my decision, I threw the paper cup into the trash, grabbed my coat, and then headed out the back way. Even though I didn't expect it, I wasn't startled by the strong hand that suddenly gripped my upper arm, stopping me.

"I want to make something clear to you, McKinley," Tew said coldly.

"Hands off, Tew."

"No, not until I've made myself clear." I glared at him. "I'm in charge of catching Sniper. She is _my_ responsibility, not yours. I don't _care_ that we were put together as partners. There's no such thing if you want to get something done. So, McKinley, you will obey my orders and you will not report anything to anyone unless I've given you permission. Do I make myself clear?"

For a moment, I stood there silently, giving him a cold glare as I gathered my thoughts together. "You are quite clear, Tew. _However_," I added sternly as he released my arm. "This is _not_ your place to command. I do not follow your orders, and the way I see it, you, as a 'guest' detective, are _below_ me so _I'm_ in charge. And if you lay another finger on me," I continued, threateningly, "You will be gone before you can say 'Sniper'."

His heated glare didn't compare against mine. He moved to stop me again, but I kept my gaze on him, silently daring him to try something. After a few moments, he huffed and stormed off, like a spoiled kid who didn't get his way.

I waited until he had disappeared back into the MCU before I left. On my way home, only a few minutes down the street, a familiar car pulled alongside me, and its passenger door flew open. Without a second's thought, I stepped in and slammed the door shut.

"One against zero. You're beating Andrew," Xander said, pulling away from the sidewalk.

"I'm not going to let him rule the place."

"You go, girl," she said, holding out her fist. I smiled slightly and gave her a fist bump, like we've always done it. "I'm relieved you weren't caught up by his good looks."

"Not so good looking. I'd like to set his hair on fire."

"I know what you mean." I glanced questioningly at her, and she explained, "He's an ex."

"He's obsessive."

"He is. And very proud, especially when a woman shows him up."

"He's been tracking you down for six or seven years," I stated, allowing more time since it appeared that Xander knew Tew very well. "He probably didn't like you being a criminal."

"That, and he doesn't like being told no."

"So he considers you the one who isn't going to get away?" I asked.

"No, I _am_ the one who got away."

We fell into a strange silence. I sat there, watching the city fly by, realizing I was sitting next to the one person whom I had been trying to avoid thinking about all day. I felt strange. Why would she come back to pick me up and talk as if nothing had happened? It had hit something yesterday. Why would she want to be _near_ the reminder of her past?

I turned my head, glancing at her. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. Her expression remained neutral, like all her concentration was on the road she was driving on. I looked away, feeling guilty for yesterday.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Just thinking," I said, simply. I didn't want to be the one to bring up yesterday.

As if reading my mind, she said, "If it's about yesterday, you might as well spill; it'll only get worse the longer you wait."

"Worse for me or for you?"

"For you, kiddo." I shook my head slightly, which she caught. "It's up to you," she said, shrugging.

Silence fell again. After a few moments, Xander apparently gave up on me saying anything because she said, "I want to tell you something, but even if you already know it, I don't want you to interrupt."

"Understood," I said, numbly.

Xander took a minute to collect her thoughts. Then, she began. "I was fifteen. Because he was unable to pay off his debt, my father sold me to the mobster Michael. For three years, he raped me. I managed to escape when I was eighteen.

"But," she said, "You already knew this, and that isn't what I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you about my mother. My father was her third husband. Her first husband was abusive; the second died in a car crash. With each man, she had one kid. So, I have two half-brothers, one three years older and the other two years. I knew the younger brother for a short while when I was twelve, but then he attempted to commit suicide. It didn't work, and I met him again in the street after I ran away from the mobster. He suffers – as far as I can tell – repressed memory, even though his doctors had claimed his entire loss of identity."

Xander scoffed. "And people wonder why I hate doctors. Anyway, I only spend enough time to figure out what I was going to do about the bastard. My half-brother helped me pay for a lawyer to set up a rape case against Michael, but the mobster is influential. My lawyer was killed in a back alley, and the court claimed him innocent. That's when I decided to handle it myself; I wanted to kill him."

She rubbed her eyes with a hand and then replaced it on the steering wheel, still driving. I hadn't taken much notice in our surroundings, but I knew we weren't headed anywhere in particular. We had no destination, but we needed none. Xander needed to drive and so she drove.

"My half-brother was against it; he didn't want me to confront the man who raped me for three years. Even though he hadn't remembered on his own, I had told him how I knew him, and for the short time we were together, him watching out for me, we had formed a new bond – or mended the old one. But when he found out about what I wanted to do, he put up a fight. You know me. I wasn't going to follow him if it was against what I was aiming for. I left him on an angry note.

"I didn't get there in time to even see the murder. That finished in a way I didn't expect, and most definitely didn't want, but at least he was dead and killed by the one other person I accept." Curious, I risked a glance at her, but she refused to look at me.

"Since I was of age, I couldn't go into foster care. Instead, I went looking for my mother, the one parent who had cared about me. I discovered she had taken to drugs after my father sold me and had died of an overdose. I had gone back to the home I remembered to find my father. I blamed him for what happened to me and to my mother so I killed him."

She inhaled sharply, and without thinking, I reached out toward her. "Don't touch me," she said stiffly. Slowly, I retracted my hand. "For a short while, I wandered the streets," she continued, "Until I met my older half-brother. You know him."

"I do?" It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

Xander glanced at me, saw my expression, and chuckled softly. "Yeah, he's the Joker, the infamous Clown Prince of Crime, located here in Gotham City." I nearly choked in an attempt to chuckle, but Xander's expression held a seriousness that silenced me. "I want to ask you one thing, and it should be fairly simple."

"Shoot," I said.

"Don't ever mention it again."

"But-."

"I accept your apology, but I want you to understand how _close_ you were to getting killed." Xander shook her head, her serious façade finally cracking as a tear tumbled down her cheek. "I wanted to hurt you, _so badly_ for bringing it up, for _reminding_ me of what I have been through. I've already worked through the flashbacks, and I've told myself that I've moved on. But you…" Her voice cracked, and she took a few calming breaths. "You _stupidly_ bring it up. I killed some number of people, and you could easily have been one of them."

She fell silent, as if regaining her composure, and I heard her sniff once or twice. Unable to stand it, I asked quietly, "Why wasn't I one of them? I was right there."

"Because I care too much about you," she snapped and then wiped angrily at her dripping eyes. "I have too much invested in you. I've become too close to you." She sounded so frustrated with herself; I felt that this has been part of what had been plaguing her throughout the day and most of the night. "I don't regret it, don't get me wrong," she said quickly. "I'm not getting rid of you. With the time I had, I researched you to find out your background, to see if you really were who you were claiming to be."

"And who am I?"

Xander exhaled slowly, as if debating whether to answer the question. It wasn't a simple question to answer, a question I had been asking myself since I woke up in the hospital with my head bandaged. I held some doubts that it would have revealed everything about me, I was a criminal for a good number of years.

"It was fairly vague, but from what I know, I've connected a bit more." I nodded, waiting and expecting an answer. "You were raised by your mother and your stepfather. You had a stepbrother too."

I leaned my head back, closing my eyes as their faces flashed through my mind. Carol, my mother, I looked like her, same eyes, same hair. My stepfather, Dane, a medium-sized man, tough-looking but really a sweet and caring guy. Scott, or Scotty, my little stepbrother.

"Your real father was Michael." I opened my eyes to see her staring at me. After a split second, I made the connection, which she saw in my expression. She continued. "No one knows what happened, but your family was found, burned inside their home. Your mother was shot, your stepfather stabbed to death, and your stepbrother…burned severely."

"He was tied to a chair and soaked with gasoline…" The words slipped through my lips as it played in my mind.

_The tears rolled down his face, crying for his mom, for his dad, for me. I struggled against my father's grip, screaming for Scotty, trying to reach him. One of Michael's men pulled gasoline over my stepbrother, causing him to gasp and spit the liquid from his mouth. He continued to cry but sobbed quietly, blinking his eyes furiously to keep the gas out of them. His expression was the last I saw of him as Michael yanked me out of the house, a face so full of fear._

"Your records said that you disappeared; they couldn't find your body amongst the ashes. Michael took you in after he and his men burned the place down. Am I right?" Silently, I nodded. "You were twelve when you disappeared, and since you were fourteen when we met the first time…" An uncomfortable silence settled on us, but Xander cleared her throat and plunged forward. "He had you for two years, with the three years after he got me."

"I know." I spoke quietly, my voice threatening to crack. Visions of a small dark room flashed through my mind, and I reacted physically, sensing my past fear and the loneliness and the grief for my dead family. How long had I remained in that room? "I was either accompanying him or locked in a small room."

We descended into a thoughtful silence, our memories playing simultaneously. I had been present whenever my father raped her, but after that first time, I never did anything to anger him for fear of him taking it out on her. He tried to spite me many times in the beginning, and as far as I knew, Xander knew that; I resisted with every bit of control I had, fighting to suffocate my inner screams. Again, Xander's voice tore through the silence, mostly like a defense mechanism against her own painful memories.

"I remember everything very well," Xander said. "Last time we had met, it was when I had headed back to kill Michael."

"I beat you to it." Again, the words slipped through my mouth, and as I said them, I knew they were true; my memories about my father were returning, how he used me and "trained" me like a dog. If I wasn't obedient or he was angry, he hit me with a cane he fancied. I bent under his steel will. I remained at his heel, like an obedient dog, tried to do everything I could to make him happy, but I received beatings for others' sakes too. I learned pain tolerance from him.

"When I found you, you were hanging over a large hole, many floors down was water. You dropped an instant after I entered the room. You didn't make a sound as you fell and hit the water. I made the connections from Michael's corpse and to the handle he had been standing by." I closed my eyes, remembering the dark water swallowing me whole, my body hurting with the impact. "I made my way down as quickly as I could and with a few more levels, I jumped in after you. You were already unconscious from the impact with the surface. I brought you back around and then set you up to go to the hospital, claiming we were best friends, giving us fake names."

"I don't remember this."

"The doctors said you suffered repressed memory from what you had gone through." She smiled slightly. "So, this isn't the first time you've forgotten things."

Frustration escaped me through a sigh. I raised my elbow and propped it against the window, resting my head in my hand.

_Blood pounded in my ears, a light-headedness overcoming me as I hung upside, limp like a ragdoll. A rope tied tightly around my ankle. A cruel voice yelled at me, and I could only understand one word: a name. "Sara."_

"Sara," I repeated softly, closing my eyes and applying pressure with my fingers, emerging myself in the darkness behind my eyelids.

"Are you all right?" Xander questioned, a dull echo in my head.

"I haven't been all right for two months," I replied, my tone sharp. "I've been trapped in a different world, trapped behind a giant door that keeps from me returning to the free air. I'm _suffocating_."

A warm hand clasped mine on my thigh. "It wasn't your fault; it wasn't your choice to leave behind everything."

"Was it everything?" I asked, softly, "Or was all that a dream or a nightmare, and this – _this_ is my reality."

"Sara-."

"Don't call me that, please," I pleaded, leaning forward, my chest tightening. "Sara Reynolds is dead."

"I'm not calling you by an alias," Xander insisted. "You _are_ Sara Reynolds."

"No." I shook my head. "I can't be. I'm Jane McKinley, ex-criminal, a detective." I relieved the pressure on my eyes and covered them with the same hand. "Please pull over. I need a walk."

"I'm not leaving you alone. Not like this. Talk it out."

Again, I shook my head. "I've been living a lie, Xander. One I've been comfortable with, up till now."

"As Jane McKinley, yes, you've been living a lie. You have to go back to being the criminal you once were."

"Again, are you offering that?"

"Same answer. It's not my place. If it were, you'd have left your 'lying' life within five minutes of our conversation on the roof. Now look at me." Reluctantly, I turned my head. "I don't know what's going on in your head right this moment, but I don't trust it. I'm taking you home, and I'm watching you so that you don't do something stupid."

"What? Like suicide?" I scoffed, humorlessly. "Highly doubtful."

"That won't mean much when you are given the opportunity." My gaze dropped to my shaking hands. "Like I said, I'm not leaving you alone."

"Why are you bothering?" I had to ask, had to know. "I'm a reminder…"

"Because you're like a little sister to me. One I need to take care of." Xander rubbed her thumb on my hand, reminding me that she hadn't moved her hand away. "A little sister…I've always wanted one."

Despite my negative emotions, I smiled slightly. "I probably have always wanted a big sister."

"Well, kiddo, now you've got one."

* * *

**Lordlink13: Well, well, well, can we say, "expert sniper"? And fortunately, that's what best friends do. They accept the other for who they are, not for their pasts or futures, or even presents. Shadow was close to being killed, but missed the bullet. YAYs for Xander and Shadow! Read and Review!**


	22. Master and Servant

Dean stopped on the street corner, leaning heavily against a lamppost. He ran his hand through his thick hair, debating what he should do. Casually, he checked his wristwatch for the time, heaving a sigh upon seeing 11:41 on the digital screen.

Standing there, he began to feel the effects of his lack of sleep for over twenty-four hours. With the toe of his shoe, he flicked a small pebble into the road, resting his head against the pole, allowing the coldness from the metal seep into his temple to ease the pounding inside.

The whine of police sirens broke him from his short rest. Dean checked both directions for any sign of the blue-and-white, but the noise faded into the distance. Another sigh hissed through his lips as he pushed himself off the streetlight. Shoving his hands into his pocket, Dean walked down the sidewalk, his head down.

He only stopped once he reached one of his destinations, where he sat down on apartment stairs for another rest. Dean squinted up at the windows, seeing they were dark. It would make sense; Shadow was off at work anyway so why would he feel the need to check up on her.

A subconscious decision, he decided. He always checked on her apartment, seeing if she was home safe. And he was exhausted, running around the city and gathering information about her and the cops. That, and simply escaping from the suffocating tension back at the base.

Since Shadow had confronted him about locating Xander, the Joker had been angry, holding some kind of resentment toward her not focusing on him. Dean would understand if his boss's rage had focused on Xander herself, but it wasn't. From what he knew of the Joker, he guessed that the clown was planning on – or already had – confronted Shadow again. It would explain his inability to focus on the work on hand.

Dean shook his head, stood, and headed back to base. He knew the Joker would call for him; he always did, and generally at the worst time. At the corner, for his own comfort, Dean looked back, one more time at Shadow's window before disappearing around the bend.

The Joker's hideout fit him and his personality. His enjoyment for theatrics had gotten to him, and he had picked the spot perfectly – more like Dean had. With all the research and checking out of the place himself he had done, Dean would have expected some gratitude, if his boss was someone other than the Joker.

The old theatre had been out of business for years, which was no surprise since it was located in the Narrows. It was one of many rundown theatres down on what would have been Grand Avenue if the street sign hadn't been torn off its post. Dean went around to the back, heading up the exit stairs.

About halfway, he stopped, turned, and sat down, lifting his gaze to the sky. He needn't hurry to the Joker's side; the boss would send someone for him or come for him himself. Dean understood how it worked; when he returned, everyone was alerted, which alerted the Joker. If he walked through the exit entrance now, there would be no chance of him sleeping for an hour or two.

Having worked almost two years for the Joker, Dean knew what any high school student knew: how to sleep at any time, in any place, in any position, and – a good skill to have – to fall asleep almost instantly.

His eyes had only been shut for a short time before the exit door opened and someone raced down the metal stairs, two steps at a time. As a thin leg struck him in the back, Dean woke with a start, eyes wide with alarm as a certain black-and-red woman tumbled down the rest of the steps.

"Oof, ow," she said when she hit the bottom.

Dean quickly rubbed his eyes, blinking in a poor attempt to clear the sandy feeling. His eyes burning, he watched Harley Quinn as she picked herself up from the ground, dusting her costume off. She raised her gaze, pouting. Dean's face remained emotionless, but inside, he chuckled at her attempt to appear angry.

"Yah _trying_ to kill someone?" she demanded, her hand on the railing.

"I couldn't have done any better than the person who tried to kill you." The words slipped out of his mouth before he had time to process them. As Harley's expression crumpled slightly, he took in the red, black, and blue about her face. Her makeup had smudged with sweat, but it had completely wiped off in most places, revealing nasty bruises.

Instead of responding to his cruel comment, Harley said, "Mistah J has been looking for yah for _hours_. Yah might want to get up there before he kills someone else."

Dean stood, realizing that the Joker killing some of his men meant whatever he wanted, it was important. Without any word to the beaten Harley, he went inside.

When he located the Joker, he found him in the control booth. The equipment that had once inherited the space had been taken, either sold or stolen, leaving the room with the basics of a bedroom, a table, chair, and mattress leaned against the wall, similar to the tech room Dean used back when they were hiding in an apartment complex. The large windows for viewing the stage had been covered with dark blankets stapled into the frames, allowing no light to seep in.

Dean entered quietly, seeing that the Joker paid no attention to the door but had his eyes fixated on the television sitting on a small side table. He sat there, in his hexagonal shirt, tie, and green vest, riffle shuffling a pack of cards over and over. His coat draped over the back of his chair.

The main sound in the room, besides the low volume of the television, was the snap of cards. The Joker's gloved hands moved rapidly, snapping one card after the other down on the table surface, forming a pyramid on the table surface. Finishing the eighth row of eight cards, he simply stared at the design, eyes darting over the numbers and calculating his next move.

Dean recognized the formation of the card pyramid as one version of solitaire. He remained at his position by the door, keeping his eyes on the Joker, waiting for him to make his move, or to notice him standing nearby.

Half a minute later, the Joker moved, his hands grabbing pairs of cards and setting them aside, on occasion taking only one card, a King, and setting it on the pile to his left.

The pyramid disappeared rapidly, starting from the bottom and moving up, the empty spots eating up into one side faster than the other, but eventually evening out. By the third row, he had lost, and with a growl of frustration, he threw his hand of cards down and leaned back in his chair, propping it against the wall behind him.

The Joker ran a hand through his green-tinted locks, eyes pinched closed. Dean sensed the barely controlled anger as his boss opened his eyes, narrowing them at the quiet television across the room. Seeking a glance, Dean discovered Commissioner Gordon talking to the media about the latest success of the police department against the Joker. Narrowing his eyes, Dean remembered how the police had interrupted the Joker's fun the night before.

"You're hiding her from me," a harsh, husky voice whispered. Dean turned his head, seeing the Joker seething and his eyes burning, threatening to toast the television. "You didn't put her on _my_ case. Too afraid she'd turn against you for me?" The Joker shook his head. "Scared that the public would discover the skeletons in her closet? Why not _show_ Shadow to the media, since she's your _best_ de-_tec_-tive? Why _not_, Com-_mish_-ioner? What's wrong with this picture?"

Frustrated, he gathered up the cards on the table and began shuffling them again, leaning forward over the table. "You treat her like she's your least important card, leaving her in your hand and never revealing her, when in re-_al_-ity, she's the Ace-in-the-Hole. Makes me _sick_." The Joker dealt the cards in the pyramid form again, never taking his eyes off the TV screen.

"You hide it from her. You won't let her remember her _real_ lifestyle. She belongs with me, _belongs_ to me." The Joker dropped the cards in his hand, and his face fell into his palms. "She only puts up with you using her because it's the only life she _remembers_." He rubbed his face, pulling his gloved hands away and looking disgusted at the warpaint that had rubbed off.

Slamming his hands flat on the table surface, he glared at the television screen. "The one time she comes to me willingly…is her needing that cursed woman's location. I _told_ her to stay away from Shadow." He growled. "I also told Shadow not to date Hawkins." His hands curled into fists. "Women," he said, exasperatedly, "They never _listen_."

An instinct told Dean to move, and he stepped aside, narrowly missing the door as it burst open. Harley, in her black-and-blue glory, shrieked, "I _found_ him, Mistah J!"

The Joker simply gathered his cards and started another game.

Harley Quinn snickered as she kicked the door closed behind her, noticing Dean and glaring at him. When he gave no reaction, she sniffed and bounded over to the table, placing her palms flat on the surface and leaning over. "Whatcha playing?" she asked, curiously.

"A game," the Joker replied dryly, slapping two cards down on the discard pile.

She giggled, amused. "What's the game?"

"Solitaire…"

"Doesn't look like solitaire," she said, turning her head as if to look at it upside-down. The Joker paused to run a hand through his green hair, looking as though he was resisting the urge to hurt her. "Hey, it looks like a pyramid," she exclaimed as she sat on the table. "Would it be Pyramid Solitaire?"

"Good _job_, Harley," the Joker said, sarcastically. Dean smirked.

"Ooo, how do yah play?" Dean rolled his eyes, silent in the corner; if he had used that sarcastic tone, she would have pouted, but since it was the Joker, she practically swooned. Harley leaned rather close to the Joker, obviously showing off her breasts, but he paid no attention, his eyes fixed on the cards before him. "Why did yah take away the Ace and the Queen?"

"They add up to thirteen," he explained in a dead tone. "Queen is twelve, and Ace is one."

"So the King is thirteen?" Harley asked, her high-pitched voice making it a question.

The Joker took the King away, and used a Four from his hand to get rid of a Nine. He checked his hand and then the cards on the table. In a fit of frustration, he threw his cards down on the table and stood up suddenly, causing both his chair and Harley to fall on the floor.

"Whoa, Mistah J!" Harley protested, but when she looked at his expression, she fell silent, her eyes wide with fear.

Dean braced himself, prepared for the worst. The Joker barely contained his anger, moving stiffly around the table, past Harley, and standing before the television, becoming a stone figure. His eyes appeared to be focused on the flashing screen, but even from the side, Dean knew his boss's mind was elsewhere, the clockwork whirring in his head.

Hesitantly, Harley climbed to her feet and stepped directly behind him. Reaching up, she gently placed her hands on his shoulders. He flinched slightly, but made no move to leave her. A smile of satisfaction taking residence on her white face, Harley started digging her fingers into his tense shoulders, rubbing them in circular motions.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't help but remember how Shadow used to be so willing to do things, such as massages, for the Joker. He knew there were many differences between Shadow and Harley, one being Shadow actually doing it out of caring and Harley being _madly_ in love and another being the difference in how the Joker treated each of them. Dean's jaw tightened.

"Bleak."

Dean straightened. "Boss?"

The Joker half-turned but moved slowly to avoid scaring off Harley. "You haven't been around much. What are you doing?"

"Keeping an eye out."

"For what?" Dean knew by the tone in the Joker's voice that he neared dangerous ground. He had to be cautious and choose his words carefully.

"Places you might want to hit, possible henchmen, information." Dean shrugged. "The usual."

"What kind of information?" The Joker's eyes had narrowed into slits, but it hardly unnerved Dean.

"Movements of the other criminals. Keep friends close, keep enemies closer."

"Anything from the police?" Behind him, Harley tensed, her fingers curling into his shoulders, but the Joker didn't pay any heed. "Who's on my case?"

Dean knew it would upset him, but he couldn't lie. "Hawkins."

Instantly, the tension in the room grew heavy and suffocating. Harley abandoned massaging and backed away, uneasy with the energy raging off the Joker's lean frame. He finished his turn in Dean's direction and swiftly sauntered toward him, only stopping when he came face-to-face with him. Dean held his breath steady as his boss's eyes burned into his.

"_Hawk_-ins is on my case?" the Joker asked, huskily. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have told you if I wasn't sure."

"Shadow's not on it at all?" His voice fell into a whisper, as if he understood that her name would set Harley off. In response, Dean simply shook his head. With a growl, the Joker turned away. "Go rest, Bleak; you look like you're going to collapse soon." Again, he spoke quietly so that Harley didn't hear him.

"Anything I can do, Mistah J?" Harley asked, guessing he was turning toward her for attention.

Dean stepped outside, closing the door behind him as Harley squealed in delight. He headed into the trap room underneath the theatre stage, where the Rottweilers had been placed. Hearing him, Scout and Prince barked their greeting, rising to their paws and bounding over. Dean scratched their ears and then whistled for the third dog, Buddy who padded over obediently.

"The Joker is crazy if he thinks I'm going to sleep under this roof," Dean muttered. He had a place to stay, an apartment that Mrs. Wood had set aside for him, and that was where he and the dogs were headed.

* * *

I threw down my pen and dropped my face into my hands. "Make it stop, make it _stop_." I heaved an exasperated sigh as I pressed my palms into my eyes. They burned from staring at the paperwork for hours; my current piece was Tew's, which I had checked several times over because I knew he was going to be an asshat about the contents.

Removing my hands, all it took was one look at the paperwork, and I had the urge to tear it to small pieces. Maybe I would've gone as far as to burn the pieces too, except I resisted it, merely entertaining myself by imagining it.

Finally, I groaned and pushed away from my desk, only to pause. I supposed I had something to thank Tew for; Gordon moved me up to "senior" partner because he didn't trust Tew. Because of my unofficial "promotion", I now had an office of my own; it was small and barely fit the desk, but it was better than having a little table to work on.

Of course, being Tew's partner, my shift had become half day, half night, but I expected it to turn into half day and whole night should something come up. Because of the change in schedule, I hadn't slept well for two nights, if at all.

Giving up entirely, I left my office, pressing my hand to my head as it began to throb painfully. I headed for the breakroom, hoping to locate painkillers.

"Turn on the TV," Bullock said around a hug bite of donut.

I had just walked into the breakroom of the MCU, and upon having the order thrown at me, I gave him a look, a hand on my hip. "What? Too lazy to get off your backside?"

"You leave my backside out of this. Turn it on. The boys will be here soon." As he finished, the "boys" (aka. Murphy, Nash, and Hawkins) wandered into the breakroom.

"What is this?" I demanded. "It's not a football or baseball game, is it?"

"TV isn't on!" Bullock exclaimed.

"Working on it!" I responded in a sing-song voice. I flicked it on and headed for the door. As I neared it, Jason stepped in the way.

"Join us," he offered, with a disarming smile. Instantly, my anger flared, but I contained it; not enough to completely hide it. I wanted him to know how much I hated him for his stupid assumption about Xander. Having been a cop for years, he should've known better than to jump to conclusions.

"No, I have to work."

"Gordon's not going to yell at you for taking your break in the _breakroom_."

I glared at him, pain throbbing behind my eyes.

"Donut?" Nash asked, holding a chocolate glazed out.

I didn't hesitate; I took it and bit into it. "Fine," I said, moving to the opposite side of the breakdown. Pulling myself up onto the counter, I munched silently on my chocolate donut.

Bullock flipped to the news, and as the announcer spoke, I glanced over at Jason. He had watched me move as far from him as I could. Narrowing my eyes, I purposely tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, flipping him off as I did so. The look on his face…_priceless_.

"Our prince of Gotham," Bullock commented. "Already moved on from the cat-lady."

"Who is that?" Nash asked as I turned my attention to the television.

I cupped my hand over my mouth, trying to hide the urge to gasp and to not choke on my food. Bruce Wayne, amongst news reporters and flashing cameras, was aiding a woman out of his car. She wore a black tea length cocktail dress and an emerald necklace that accented her eyes. Her hair was up in a tight bun, and she smiled sweetly for the cameras as Wayne wrapped his arm around her waist. Even though everyone else couldn't see it, I saw straight through the woman's act. Best part: Xander Eccleston was Wayne's new partner.

"Not a blonde this time," Murphy remarked.

"Selina wasn't blonde," Nash pointed out.

"A criminal thought."

Jason threw a suspicious look in my direction at the sight of Xander. My jaw tightened; I resented him being so observant, enough to recognize her. He had nerve to throw such an accusing stare in my direction; he had ruined his chances and he knew it, yet he insisted on attempting to calling me out on associating with someone he believed was a criminal. He was right, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. At least Tew wasn't here to catch the look.

I paid attention to Xander, wondering what she was up to. It didn't seem like her to run after some guy's love, particularly a playboy like Wayne. Looking at her, I caught the expressions she had flashing across her face; it appeared as though someone had placed her in a position she didn't like. Curious, I thought, that Xander would allow anyone to bully her into such a situation.

"Mr. Wayne's probably up to no good with her," Jason remarked smugly. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him stealing a glance at me. If he was hoping for a reaction from me, he would have to try harder. "He always seems to go for the empty-headed and the submissive."

Okay, he didn't have to try _too_ hard to pick a fight with me; he knew me well, to some degree. "She's not empty-headed or submissive," I argued, keeping my eyes glued on the screen. "She looks the type who can handle herself. I bet she'd take him down easily."

Jason narrowed his eyes slightly. "What makes you think so?"

"Women aren't toys or pieces of meat, Hawkins," I said pointedly, finally meeting his eyes, mine cold. "A _true_ gentleman would know that."

I felt the sudden uneasiness in the room, and considered continuing the fight that I've been itching to have for too long. However, before I could decide, Tew chose my decision for me by bursting in and almost knocking Jason out with the door. He ignored the other detectives and stopped directly in front of me, his eyes blazing.

"McKinley, you haven't finished the paperwork," Tew said, waving the manila folder around in my face.

I gritted my teeth in annoyance, causing pangs of pain spiking through my temples. "Tew, it just needs your signature," I told him, struggling to rein in my anger.

"You didn't give all the details," he argued. "I'm not signing it until-."

"Then you add the rest in," I snapped. "Every single detail that _I_ missed, _you_ can put in yourself."

Tew's jaw muscles tightened, and he lifted a finger.

In a flash, I slid off the counter and brought my face into his, glaring. "Stand _down_," I commanded in a dark but low tone. "You're the outsider here; don't mess with me, or you'll have to deal with my backup."

Tew hesitated and then warily looked over his shoulder. He met hard glares. Suddenly, self-conscious, he straightened his shirt, cleared his throat, and glanced at the screen.

The moment he laid eyes on Xander, his self-consciousness disappeared, evaporating into the air. His jaw set, his eyes narrowed, definitely a man who had recognized his target. The hatred burned in his eyes, insanely.

"Gentlemen, _that_ is Alexandra Eccleston," Tew announced, a finger pointed at her. I muffled a laugh at the disgusted look that appeared on Xander's face, as if she knew Tew was pointing at her, but in reality only reacting to Mr. Wayne's peck on her cheek. It was fairly quick, probably quick enough that no one in the breakroom, but me, caught it. Even if anyone had, Xander smiled and played it off as Wayne had surprised her.

Abruptly, an officer opened the breakroom door, popping his head inside. "Bullock, Nash, we've got a Code Two. Scarecrow's attacked Iceberg Lounge."

The named detectives reacted swiftly, standing and filing out the door with the officer, Bullock asking for details. Murphy finished off his coffee and then followed; the three of them giving Tew any acknowledgement. With a look at his eyes, I knew he distasted being ignored immensely.

Once my "backup" had left, I realized I was alone with the two men I hated. I ignored them and finished my donut before searching through the medicine cabinet for some painkillers. The door opened and closed again, and I hoped that both of them had left. Unfortunately, when I turned about, I met Tew.

"We should be going down there," he said.

"Why?" I demanded. Despite my pounding headache, I crossed my arms, appearing defiant as I met his burning eyes.

"Why?" he repeated, scoffing. "My suspect is down there."

"_Our_ suspect." He glared down the length of his nose at me. "Realize that she is no longer yours, Tew," I told him, coldly. "We're partners, not master and servant." He opened his mouth, but I clamped my hand over it. "You have no power over anybody here. No one will jump for you so don't even _think_ of trying to control any kind of situation without me. It'd be a waste of our time and will ruin the operation. Understand?"

I felt his body heat rise, his eyes flashing dangerously. Warily, I removed my hand, and he said, "It's part of Alexandra's work."

"Her supposed MO is to snipe people from rooftops with no particular choice of victim. We have no evidence that she did it."

"It's her," he insisted.

"There's nothing in any of her 'files' about any type of move like this."

"How would you know?"

"How would _you_?"

"I _know_ her."

I smiled, but my smile held no humor. "We're not going, Tew. It has nothing to do with the Sniper. Unless she's gone and kidnapped Bruce Wayne, we have no reason to go." He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "No, Tew, we're staying here; that's final, _capice_?"

His eyes burned with fury, and I expected him to continue to argue with me; he always did. He had to be the one in charge, the one with the power. I've seen the hunger in his eyes every time he attempted to gain some ground; he enjoyed power and craved it. The detectives and I never relented, and it angered him. I prepared myself for his argument; however, he simply said, "Understood." Then, he spun on his heel and left the room.

I stood there, unsure of what to think or do. I had become accustomed to Tew arguing every step of the way – he was very much like Jason in at that aspect – but this time, it seemed far too easy. So easy that I couldn't help but feel suspicious. It unnerved me, but with Nash sticking his head into the breakroom and asking for my help, I couldn't question Tew's possible motives.

While we piled into squad cars, I caught sight of Bullock being held back by Jason, arguing. I almost stepped into Nash's vehicle, but stopped when I spotted Tew trotting over to join us. "Why are you-?"

"Lieutenant Hawkins gave me permission to go after he found out about you going," Tew said, smugly.

"And how did you convince him?" I asked, although I knew his answer already.

"Told him I had to watch over my partner. Last thing I need is to lose her to _our_ suspect." Hearing the emphasis on 'our', I glared at him. He smiled and gestured toward Nash's car. "You can have the front," he said, politely.

With a pointed glare, I stepped in, and he shut the door for me. He climbed into the back, and Nash drove after Bullock's squad car. On the way there, Nash filled us in with what had happened. Scarecrow had attacked the Iceberg Lounge, gassing the whole place and causing major panic for the diners. By Nash's estimation, the ex-psychiatrist wouldn't be there any longer when they arrived, but as it was part of the police's duty, we had to clean up after and take account of the damage and if anyone was missing.

We arrived on the scene, finding that everyone was outside of the Lounge. Slamming my door shut, I turned and took in the area. Groups huddled together, some still freaking out about their worst fear brought to life. Remembering Nash's explanation and the reports on Fear Night, I shuddered, feeling like the screams vibrated violently through my very being. From my knowledge, Wayne Enterprises had discovered the cure to the fear gas, and the city made it mandatory that people received the shot for it. From what I was seeing, I deduced that Scarecrow had adjusted the toxin to work around the medication, leaving the people still screaming squirming on the ground and sobbing.

Ambulances soon arrived on the scene and began checking the victims, giving those who were most affected by the gas sedatives to calm them. I spotted Tew walking amongst them, purposely searching for Xander. With a thorough glance from where I still stood, I knew she wasn't there. I wondered. Was Scarecrow who she was talking to on the phone earlier two days ago?

Spotting Nash nearby, I strolled over and noticed the guest list that he held in his hand. "Is everyone accounted for?" I asked him.

He shook his head, a pen in his hand. About fifteen names were circled on the list, and I saw that Xander and Wayne's names were amongst them. "Some of them could have left early," Nash said, "I'd need to ask the waiters when they have recovered a bit." He glanced over at the ambulances, sighing with frustration. I patted his shoulder, comfortingly.

Tew finally approached, his hands dug into his pockets. From his expression, he had apparently discovered that Xander wasn't amongst the victims. He came straight to me. "She's not here, and the waiters say that some people are missing. I _told_ you she was part of this."

Nash scoffed as I rolled my eyes. "You jump to conclusions too fast," I told him, "Just like your buddy Hawkins."

Tew's eyes narrowed. "I know Alexandra inside and out. I know how she thinks, how she works. You're being too casual about this case." Suspicion flashed accusingly in his eyes.

"They could have already eaten and left early," Nash said.

Tew's attention averted to him. "The news had just announced her arrival at Iceberg Lounge."

"That was the eight o'clock news on repeat," Nash told him. "It wasn't live. They had an hour to order, eat, and then leave."

"And don't say they didn't have time," I cut Tew off before he could embarrass himself. "Iceberg Lounge is one of the top restaurants in Gotham, and they are very efficient. That, and Wayne has money and probably got served as soon as they walked into the place."

Tew glared daggers at me, but before he could say anything, Bullock wandered over, his lips tight, not a good a sign. "Cobblepot isn't talking," he announced.

"Why would he keep his mouth shut?" Tew demanded, his anger getting the best of him.

"Watch your mouth, Tew," I rebuked him. "Cobblepot is an influential man in this city."

"So the GCPD allows a criminal to rule them. Is the department accepting bribes from him, or does it not even bother to arrest him?"

I clenched my jaw, keeping my anger in check. "Like you're one to talk. You've been chasing the same 'criminal' for years, and she's avoided getting caught. At least the GCPD can keep an eye on Cobblepot."

The furious look I received didn't faze me. He stormed off but didn't go far, like he expected we were going to share information when he wasn't there.

"I'll talk to him," Nash said, referring to Cobblepot but Bullock stopped him, outstretching his arm.

"I don't want him giving you the same crud," he said in explanation.

"I talk to him all the time, keeping an eye on him and retrieving information if he had any."

"You're a cop; he won't talk unless you're a criminal."

My ears perked slightly. "I can do it," I said, without thinking.

In the corner of my eye, I spotted movement as Tew turned his head toward me, and I thought I heard a crack. I turned mine, and he immediately attempted to hide his action, rubbing his neck and pretending as though he hadn't heard anything.

"You can attempt it," Bullock said after a moment of thought, oblivious to Tew's reaction.

"Maybe not," I stated, hoping to divert Tew's interest.

"Go on, McKinley," Nash encouraged.

"You shouldn't belittle your annoying talent of badgering people," Tew said, moving closer to our group. From his confident tone and almost smug grin, I knew he had definitely caught what I had said; he looked like a predator on a scent, determined to follow it to the end. He thought he had something to hold over me, but the last thing I needed was for him to have that control. I didn't want him knowing anything about my criminal past. "I'll go with you if you're nervous," he offered, pleasantly.

I scoffed while glaring daggers at him. "Stay here, Pomeranian." His face altered from smug to anger with the insult, but he wouldn't dare make a move against me with Bullock and Nash around. As I walked away, I felt the surge of satisfaction in knowing I still held much more control over him than he over me. I preferred it that way, and I wanted to keep it like that.

Cobblepot's face brightened slightly when he spotted my approach, the reaction instantly setting me on edge. "I do hope you are the 'good' cop," he said as he wiped his spectacles.

"This isn't interrogation, Mr. Cobblepot," I told him as I sat down across from him. "You only received the 'bad' cop because it's Bullock."

"Hm." He replaced his glasses on his long nose. "What may I do for you, Detective?"

I retrieved a small notepad from my pocket, flipping it open. "If you wouldn't mind filling me in with what happened tonight, Mr. Cobblepot…" I left it hanging, and he willingly filled in the gap.

It had started out like the usual, the rich coming to dine, the less fortunate having to wait outside in a line. Cobblepot named many of the usual activities, how he had organized the Lounge for the people's interests. I prompted him with questions about when Scarecrow had arrived, and he told of Scarecrow and his men wearing masks and gassing people in groups. I nodded as I jotted down notes, realizing after a moment that it didn't seem as though Scarecrow had actually planned this event – or at least he hadn't planned on using the vents in the Lounge to his advantage.

"You've given Detective Nash the guest list. Do you mark them off when they have left?"

"I keep an eye out for who is served and leaves. I record with my own notes." He reached inside his suit jacket pocket and retrieved a small notepad, similar to mine. "The regulars and the well-known are easy to keep track," he said, flipping it open to tonight's service. "I time my staff."

"Looking for ways of improving and who is working well?" I asked as I motioned Nash.

"Of course. My Lounge has a high ranking, and I'd like to keep it that way," Cobblepot said as Nash approached. I asked him for the guest list; he handed it over, and I asked, "The circled names are of the people unaccounted for. Had anyone left yet by the time Scarecrow arrived?"

Cobblepot nodded, double checking his notepad for confirmation. "Yes, Mr. Bruce Wayne and his companion Ms. Alexandra Eccleston. They left about five minutes before it happened."

I nodded, handing Nash the list back, waving him away. "They left of their own accord."

"Well, yes." Cobblepot gave me a good look and said, "You know, don't you?"

"My criminal senses are going off," I said, frowning at the fact he had caught on so quickly. "Do you know where they were headed?"

"The abandoned warehouse on the pier by the ruins of Ace Chemicals Factory." Taken aback, I looked at him, unable to find the words. "You didn't expect me to tell you, didn't you?" Cobblepot asked. He frowned. "Tell Ms. Eccleston that I did what I was told."

"Xander set me up?" I asked, my voice dropping into a whisper.

"She said you, and definitely _not_ some detective named Tew, which," he added, jerking his nose in Tew's direction, "I'm guessing is that unpleasant fellow there, the one who definitely has a death wish."

"As much as the police don't appreciate having him around, he is still working for the law, and threatening his life is not a smart idea, Mr. Cobblepot," I said.

"Well, I thank you for putting him in his place before he went any farther."

"I didn't do it for you."

Cobblepot shrugged. "I appreciate it all the same."

I simply nodded. "So, you think Xander's scary?"

"She arranged it before she came with Wayne. She can be very persuasive."

"No doubt she would love to hear you think she's scary," I said, smirking.

"I'd rather lose my lounge," he said. I nodded, thanked him, and returned to the still gathered detectives.

"Any luck?" Tew asked as I approached.

"Were you hoping for information on the Sniper?" I asked him. "This is an investigation on Scarecrow, not Sniper."

Once again, I received his furious gaze. "I'll talk to him," Tew proclaimed, angrily. "I'll make him talk."

"If you think you can do better, be my guest," I said casually, motioning toward the Icebergy Lounge owner. He straightened, and he stormed off toward Cobblepot. As a precaution, Bullock called over two officers, giving them the instructions to watch Tew and ensure he didn't attack the business owner.

"You seem to enjoy setting him off a bit much," Nash said.

"We all do," Bullock grumbled. "It looked like he spoke to you." I nodded and opened my notepad again, reporting everything to them. Once I finished, Bullock said, "Good work, McKinley."

"Am I hearing things or did you just congratulate me?" I asked teasingly but held a disapproving look on my face.

"You heard me. It'll be the one and only time."

"Better be."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, taking out a toothpick from one and placing it in his mouth. "I don't like you using your former status as a criminal for information."

"I didn't want to use it in front of Tew." He glanced over where Tew talking to Cobblepot, demanding information and going red in the face with the effort to keep his temper under control. "It's not my fault," I insisted. "I wouldn't have used it unless I had to, which I did in this case."

"Cobblepot wouldn't have talked otherwise," Nash injected. "You have to admit, Bullock, that it came in handy this time around."

Bullock shrugged, biting the toothpick. "I still don't like it." He looked me in the eye and said, "Use it wisely and not around that dimwit Tew." I nodded, acknowledging the order. Because Tew looked like he was about to strangle Cobblepot, Bullock headed over to handle the situation.

"You're sly, McKinley," Nash remarked.

"What makes you say that?" I asked, curious.

"Cobblepot told you more than information on the incident."

"I didn't want to tell Bullock."

Nash waved it off. "I'll handle Bullock. I'll pretend to get it from the scene, on a napkin or something. What did you get?"

"The exact location."

After I relayed the information to him, he nodded and promised to handle it, joining a group of police in entering the Lounge, wearing a gas mask.

Finally, Bullock and Tew returned, the latter flustered and frustrated. "He's withholding information. He knows!" Tew insisted.

"We know," Bullock said, grumpily.

"I need to know where she went."

"_We_ need to know," I corrected. "And technically, the Sniper has _nothing_ to do with this situation here." Tew threw me a threatening look, his eyes dark.

"Where's Nash?" Bullock asked.

"He went inside to help look for any evidence or clues," I answered. "It might be awhile."

We waited for Nash to return, and when he did, he held a napkin inside an evidence bag. "Found the location," Nash announced, cheerily.

"The location?" Tew demanded. "What is it? How'd you find it?"

Nash fixed him with a cold stare and said, "Magic, pretty boy."

* * *

**Lordlink13: Who thinks Tew is a jerk? I do, as does my wonderful beta reader. I don't know what I'd do without my beta reader, and of course, I really don't know what I'd do without my readers. Thank you all! Read and Review!**


	23. A New Fear

The Lamborghini flew toward the rundown warehouse, coming to a smooth stop, the driver throwing it into park neatly. Her hands remained on the steering wheel as she inhaled slowly. In the passenger seat, Wayne glanced over at her with dull eyes.

"Smooth ride?" he asked, his words slurring slightly.

She exhaled in a burst, and then a sweet smile crossed her lips. "Very nice ride," she commented.

"So, is this where you live?" he asked, gesturing out the windshield.

Xander followed his hand and laughed. "That's preposterous. A girl like me living in a place like that?" She shook her head. "Even Batman is smarter than that."

"What…" He hiccupped and then continued. "Makes you say that, Alexandra?"

"Well," she began, resting her wrists on the top of the steering wheel, "Batman is like a bat. He probably has his 'living' area, or hideout, in a cave."

"I wouldn't be surprised." He reached over and lightly touched her hand. Immediately, she withdrew it. "Are you okay?" he asked, worried.

"You startled me."

"I'm sorry." He smiled as his fingers brushed her cheek. "You startle easily, like a mouse."

"I think you're drunk," Xander said, pointedly but spoke in her sweet voice. She touched her finger to his chin and leaned in slightly. "You look tired."

"Well, I'm not," he said, flirtatiously. "I couldn't fall asleep on you. I enjoy your wonderful personality too much."

"Is that how you pick up girls?" An instant smile flashed onto her face.

Wayne laughed. "There are few women like you." He cupped her chin and leaned in. Xander moved slightly, and he kissed her cheek instead of her mouth. "Hm, you taste sweet."

She withdrew and noticed his eyelids fluttering. "Rest your head back. You're exhausted."

"No, I'm just drunk."

She laughed softly. "Head back, Bruce. I'll drive. Sleep for a bit."

He attempted to kiss her again, but missed entirely. Xander waited as he tipped his head back before she placed a cloth covered with chloroform over his mouth and nose. "I'll drive safely. I promise," she said as Wayne fell under.

She leaned close, checking him to ensure that he was actually asleep. That's when someone knocked really hard on the hood of the car. Xander covered her mouth, refusing to allow the strangled cry to escape her as she whipped her head, peering through the window shield.

The Joker stood outside, bent over with a disgusted expression on his face, his mouth hanging open and his eyes narrowed. Immediately upon setting eyes on him, Xander cursed under her breath and stepped out of the Lamborghini, slamming the door shut.

"Ew, I've caught my sistah in the act," he said.

"I'm gonna _kill_ you," she spat.

"Is that how you usually do it? Knock 'em out and have your way with them?" He chuckled as she thrust her face into his. "Gee, Xander, don't tell me you have feelings for me too. Or is it just because you're aroused and can't get off the high?"

"Why are you here, bastard?" she demanded.

"Now, now, no need to be mean," he said, retreating a step with his hands held up defensively.

"_Answer. _The. _Question_."

His scarred mouth stretched into his Glasgow smile. "Well, if you must know, I was taking a walk."

"I doubt that."

"Even criminal masterminds, such as myself, need a break." He tapped her forehead, to which she quickly swatted his hand away. "Some fresh air would do me good, now and then. Helps me clear my head." He tapped his own. "I just happened upon a place of memory." He gestured toward the pier, where torn up building still sat. Following his outstretched arm, the Joker looked at the building and sighed. "Ah, such _good_ memories."

"I don't want to know," Xander said, checking on Wayne through the window.

"You could ask Shadow," the Joker said, loudly, "Since you're friends and all."

"You sound insulted."

"Well, _duh_, you don't _listen_ to your smart older brother."

Xander scoffed as she walked around the vehicle, reaching inside for her purse. "You don't deserve to be listened to."

The Joker narrowed his eyes, his white nostrils flaring. "Keep pushing buttons, Xander."

"You don't frighten me," she told him, pulling her mobile from her purse. He stepped forward, which she caught out of the corner of her eye. "Stay there, clownboy, unless you want to get hurt."

"You? _Hurt_ me?"

She looked up as she placed her phone to her ear, arching an eyebrow at him. "Do you _want_ a heel up your ass?"

"Your stilettoes are beautiful," he deadpanned.

"That's right. I wouldn't want to soil them on your imperfect ass." Xander half-turned, turning her shoulder to him, but she kept the ability to see him as the phone rang in her ear. "Pick up the damn phone, burlap boy," she muttered darkly when she received voicemail.

"Is that you're calling?" the Joker asked. Xander glanced over her shoulder, spotting a van pulling off the road and toward them.

As the van pulled up alongside them, Xander looked at the Joker, smirking pleasantly. "Time to get lost now, clown boy."

"Thank you for coming," a cool voice said. Xander spun, spotting Scarecrow's tall form as he stepped out of van, his men following. "I'm glad I didn't disrupt any of your plans."

"Wait, _excuse_ me?" Xander gave Scarecrow a look. "You _invited_ him?" The Joker smirked at her triumphantly, to which she threw him a dirty look.

"Of course," he said pleasantly, drawing her aside. "I need him to see something."

"See what exactly?"

"It'll be a surprise for you as well, but it's meant for him." He motioned for his men to hurry it up, and Xander glanced over, spotting a line of people with bags over their heads being led out of the van. Two or three of them sobbed underneath the bags, but the others remained silent, following the probes their received from Scarecrow's henchmen.

"You needed more people than just Wayne?" she asked, confused.

Scarecrow gripped the top of his mask and yanked it off. His hair stood array as he lifted his face to the sky, breathing in the cool air and running his hand through his dark brown locks. Xander arched an eyebrow. "Hey, burlap boy, can you not breathe underneath there?"

"Funny," he said coolly and turned around, snapping his fingers in the direction of Wayne's car. Xander caught the look of disgust on Scarecrow's face when he glanced at the Lamborghini, but it lasted for barely a second so she didn't know if she had imaged it or not.

* * *

Tew was everywhere, showing a picture of Xander to the SWAT teams, warning them that she was dangerous but must be taken alive, should they find her. Some of them commented on how beautiful she looked, and he turned red in the face, ordering the SWAT to remain on target. I shook my head in disbelief; the operation had been setup for catching Scarecrow, not Xander. Watching my partner move about the SWAT, I held the image of a dog going crazy with the scent of its prey, wanting off the leash to chase it.

I had remained by Nash's car, leaning against it with my arms crossed defiantly, merely watching Tew make a fool out of himself. In a way, it was almost comical, but I didn't laugh; my head had started to ache during the car ride here when Tew had chattered excitedly about catching the Sniper. Even Nash's attempts to shut him up hadn't worked.

"Abandoned warehouses are nothing but creepy," Jason commented casually, standing close to my position.

"If you're scared, go back to the MCU," I told Jason, stoically. "Gordon can find you something to keep you busy. The paperwork would just _love_ to have your company." I sensed Jason's hard gaze, but I ignored him, still watching Tew. He was currently in a yelling match with one of the SWAT leaders who had told him that he didn't take orders from him.

"Why did you let him come?" I asked, irritably.

"No need to sound bitter about it. He understands the importance of protecting your partner." I scoffed, shaking my head. "He's a good detective with a good head on his shoulders, passionate about capturing his target," Jason supplied.

"Are you seriously defending him?" I smacked my head, wincing as it added further pain to my headache. "Never mind. You two are buddy-buddy."

"I have a theory," Nash said, breaking away from Bullock and another SWAT leader and walking to stand next to me. "You want to hear it?"

"No," Jason said at the same time I said, "Yes."

"They're sleeping together."

A fit of laughter burst from me abruptly. Whereas Jason reddened and protested angrily that Nash's theory wasn't true, I couldn't stop myself.

"You watch what you say, Detective," Jason commanded. "Remember who you're talking to. And you, Jane-."

Instantly, my laughter stopped. "It's _McKinley_ to you," I snapped, my fury refueled. "C'mon, Nash. I want to know what Bullock's plan is." I pushed off Nash's car, turning my back to Jason, walking toward the SWAT team with Nash keeping pace by my side. Once we were out of earshot, I asked, "Did anyone ask about the evidence yet?" Nash shook his head. "If I have announced the presence of evidence, someone would have asked to see it."

He clapped my shoulder, as if to comfort me. "Is Tew convinced that it's Sniper?"

"Yeah," I said.

"He's a pain."

"A major pain in my ass. He pisses me off."

As we approached Bullock, he turned and heaved a heavy, exasperated sigh. "I figured I'd let Tew run out his excitement," Bullock said, honestly.

"As if he'll ever tire," I said. "He's got that fire in his eyes."

"It's similar to yours," Nash remarked. I gave him a daring look that held no mean intent. It would make sense why he was my favorite detective; he was the one of the first who I had met in the outside world when I left Arkham. Since Bullock wasn't looking, I bumped his shoulder, affectionately.

"The SWAT teams will head in and check the place out. Any further decision depends on them finding Scarecrow or the hostages," Bullock continued, oblivious to Nash's comment.

"Or the Sniper," I added. Nash gave me a confused look. "I figure since Tew's on a roll over there, I might as well _pretend_ I'm supporting him. He is my partner after all."

"If only he knew the truth," Bullock said. The corners of his mouth twitched as he fought to keep himself from smiling.

"So we sit here and wait?" I asked, to which the detective nodded.

"You realize we're facing a lethal sniper, correct?" Nash asked, jerking his head at Tew who had begun his approach. "She could shoot us from a window or the roof."

"Where do you think she'd have her sniper rifle, Nash? Her bra?" I teased him, and he turned bright red. "You watched the news. She's in a dress; dresses don't have pockets."

"She would have the rifle at the location," Tew said, catching my comment. "And she wouldn't dare snipe us. It's one woman against the SWATs. There will be no problems."

"A woman can handle quite a bit," Nash remarked. "Right, McKinley?"

I ignored Nash's prompting and crossed my arms defiantly. "Tew, there is a problem, and you know what that is?" He narrowed his eyes, as if preparing for my answer. "She's not going to be here."

"We'll see," he said and moved away, joining Jason by his vehicle.

"See, what did I tell you?" Nash said, leaning close to me. "They've got a bromance going on."

"Well, too bad Sniper doesn't snipe both of them here and now, take both of them out of my hair." Nash laughed quietly to that.

Bullock gave the signal, and the SWAT teams barged in. I hated the waiting; it was the worst part. My anxiety escalated over the possibility of the cops capturing Xander. I knew Xander was involved with Scarecrow, but I didn't think she was directly involved with tonight's plan. The last thing I needed was for Tew to actually be right, that she was here with Scarecrow and his hostages. I feared what he might do if he caught her with how passionate he became whenever someone mentioned herr criminal name.

When the SWATs had swept the warehouse, the leader returned to report that it was clear. I heaved a silent breath, relieved. On the other hand, once news reached my partner's ears, Tew was _furious_.

"What do you mean the place is clear?" Tew demanded.

"Exactly what it means," the SWAT leader replied. "No one's in there."

"That can't be possible. We had a lead that led us here."

"The lead was for catching Scarecrow, not Sniper," Nash said.

Tew turned on him. "_You're_ the one who found it. Who says you didn't fake it? You did it on purpose. The Sniper needed you to lead us in the wrong direction so she could escape."

"Hey, Tew, back off," I snapped, drawing his attention. "Don't accuse someone without any proof. Besides, it's not Nash you want to be angry with."

Tew confronted me, stepping forward and bringing his face relatively close to mine, his eyes burning into mine. "You're right," he said, his voice even but angry. "It's not Nash I should be pissed at. I'm pissed with _you_." He cocked his head. "You wanna know why?" he demanded. "You don't pay attention. You don't care about the case. If anyone is obstructing the investigation, it's _you_."

"Take that back," Nash said, taking a step forward.

I stopped him with an outstretched arm. "Let the man finish."

"McKinley," Nash protested, but I allowed him no farther.

"Tell me, Tew," I began, crossing my arms again. "Assume I _am_ obstructing the investigation."

"I will, as of this moment," he replied. "I don't trust you."

"Nor I you," I sneered. "I trust you as far as I can _throw_ you, which wouldn't be far at all." I eyed his stomach for a second, long enough for him to catch and glance down to check himself. "Even if I'm working to obstruct the investigation on the Sniper case, there's nothing you can do about it. I still call the shots."

"Not if I can help it."

"What do you have to hold against me?" I asked, throwing my arms out wide. "What evidence is there, de-_tec_-tive?" I raised my eyebrows with a "Hm?" His face flushed, his jaw tightened as he grinded his teeth. "Be careful, that's bad for your teeth," I told him. I received a dark glare, and as he moved forward, I stepped back, turning away. "Nash, watch him," I ordered my livid favorite.

I approached Bullock, with the request to check the place out myself. When I told him I would be taking Tew with me, he immediately insisted upon having Nash remain behind as well. I swore I could handle Tew on my own, that if I didn't return to the MCU or didn't give them a call before the night was through, he could cuff Tew. Reluctantly, Bullock gave in.

"Just don't let him out of your sight," Bullock told me as he gestured Nash and Tew over.

"I won't," I promised. Bullock drew Tew aside, most likely to give him a prep talk and possibly a threat or two. While he did that, I explained the situation to Nash.

"I should stay with you," Nash said, "To cover your back."

"Bullock tried that. I'm not having it. If I'm going to beat him senseless and leave him behind, I can't have witnesses." Nash grinned. "I'll call you, if I need a ride." He looked like he wanted to say something more, but Bullock and Tew had rejoined us.

Tew didn't look particularly happy with the arrangement, but then neither was I. Bullock called the SWAT teams and the cops to withdraw and leave. Nash gave Tew a distrusting look before climbing into his car with Jason and following the SWAT trucks and police cars. When I saw them on the move out, I turned and headed for the warehouse, calling over my shoulder, "You coming or not?"

Not much remained of the warehouse, yet as I stepped inside, I had a sense of déjà vu. For some reason, I remembered it had been raining the night I had come here in the past. What had I been doing here?

Tew stepped on a piece of glass, the snapping drawing me from my thoughts. To cover my confusion, I surveyed my surroundings, taking in the huge room with broken windows, old machinery, and rotting rafters. The roof barely existed with the holes open to the night sky and weakened metal caving under its own weight.

Wordlessly, Tew and I retrieved flashlights from our belts and began our search. Bullock and Nash shouldn't have worried about me losing track of Tew; he trusted me as much as I trusted him. With no trust between us, neither of us left the other's side. Together, we checked the warehouse, searching every corner and adjacent room. We left the creaky catwalks for last, climbing the metal stairs and listening to the weakened material threatening us to bend or give.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you?" Tew asked when we reached the top.

I gave him a look and pushed past him, walking confidently out on the catwalk. It creaked under my weight, but it held. I held onto the railing, figuring if my luck turned for the worst, at least I'd get away from Tew. I was only a quarter across the room when I realized I didn't hear Tew behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I called, "What? You afraid of heights?"

He shook his head, grinning. I didn't like the smug look on his face. He reached out a hand and touched what looked like an extra piece of the railing. I realized too late that it was a lever.

"Have a nice trip," Tew said and pulled the lever.

The catwalk dropped under my feet, and I fell. A startled gasp escaped my lips as gravity took its hold. My hands grasped at the air, hoping for something to catch myself on. No such luck.

I expected to hit the floor of the warehouse and die on impact. It surprised me when I fell through the floor, and the explanation came when the hole covered up, leaving me in falling darkness.

It ended with a thud on a huge pile of moving covers, leaving me momentarily stunned. Even when I recovered, it still took me a few minutes to realize I was still alive, and with no broken bones.

I sat up in the dark and pulled out my phone. "Great, no reception…" I sighed. I used my cell's light to search for my flashlight, but I couldn't find it amongst the moving covers. With another sigh, this one with exasperation, I began my struggle against the covers to find the wall.

It had to be a storage room for the covers. Once I got down, my searching hands met the cold wall. After tucking my phone away, I hugged it as I moved around the room, hoping for a door. A sigh of relief escaped me when my hand touched a cold, round doorknob.

I fell through the door, thanks to a cover that trapped my feet. I hissed as my hands scrapped against the cement floor, but I picked myself up, wiping them on my jeans.

A light suddenly pierced through the darkness, and I lifted a hand to the level of my eyes, squinting against it. I took two steps forward, and then, a blunt object cracked against my head. I dropped like a dead weight, yet somehow, I remained on the edge of consciousness.

Someone grabbed me and heaved me off the ground, cradling me against his chest. He, whoever he was, carried me confidently so I assumed he could see well enough; my vision had gone dark, whether from the head hit or from closing my eyes, I couldn't tell. He was gentle as he sat me down in a chair, careful with my head as he strapped me to it.

I found I hadn't closed my eyes when my vision gradually returned, leaving everything blurry. I couldn't make out much from the blur and the poor lighting, but I was sure I was looking at a man's white face and black eyes. It reminded me of a panda, except for the red, or at least I thought it was red.

He finished strapping me down and stopped, staring at me. My blurry vision stopped me from reading his expression, but he leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on my lips. Unconsciously, my breath hitched in my throat, but he didn't stay there long as he moved away, leaving me alone with the poor lighting.

I closed my eyes, trying to fight through the sudden pounding in my head. With every moment, the pain become more intense as my senses returned. Knives of agony stabbed through my head at multiple points as light suddenly reddened the blackness behind my eyelids.

"Wake up, Detective," a chilling voice said. "The doctor's in. I apologize for keeping you waiting."

My eyes opened, and I made out the blurry form of a tall man. As I continued to stare, I saw he wore a nice suit with a sack-like mask on his head. My head hurt like a bitch, but I recognized the man who spoke to me.

"Time for your medication," he said, revealing a needle.

I swore and strained against the straps. Rage flooded through my veins when I couldn't move.

"Now, now, don't struggle," he ordered. "It'll only pinch a little bit."

Strapped helplessly to the chair, I had to give in; I hated it. The pinch came and went, and he drew away, setting the needle down on a metal table outside my peripheral vision. "That had better have been a quick-reacting poison, Scarecrow," I told him.

"You have a death wish?" Scarecrow asked in response, turning back to me. "That's interesting."

"You _would_ think so," I murmured, closing my eyes.

"Am I hearing resentment?"

"I resent the fact that you didn't just inject me with poison."

He chuckled, and it sounded off, almost echoing to my ears. "No, what runs through your system as of this moment is much better than poison."

"What is it, may I ask?"

"Since you were so polite, I'll tell you." I opened my eyes and jerked. Scarecrow's face – or mask – appeared directly in my face, unexpectedly vivid. "A dose of fear, my dear."

He scurried away, pulling up a chair, the metal legs scraping against the floor. I winced as the noise echoed painfully in my ears. Even my vision started vibrating, everything disoriented. Immediately, I knew it to be Scarecrow's drug, working on me and starting my hallucinating. For a moment, my memory of seeing the customers at Iceberg Lounge earlier tonight flashed through my mind, the screams protruding.

"So tell me, Detective," Scarecrow began, his voice darker and distorted beyond recognition. "What is your greatest _fear_?"

My stomach lurched at the word. I didn't answer as the room tipped, causing my body to spasm slightly.

"You can talk to me," Scarecrow prompted. "What are you afraid of? Spiders? Rats? Death?" He waited while I bit my lower lip, struggling against the thought of critters crawling on my skin. "Death wouldn't be your fear with your suicidal urges," Scarecrow said quietly, as if speaking to himself. I heard the rustle of paper, but I couldn't see with the fluid motion of the light burning into my retinas.

"Ah," he said suddenly, "That makes this interesting."

"What?" My voice cracked under the strain.

"A patient like you wouldn't remember what your worst fear is. Why? Because your memory's gone."

"Is not!" I protested, louder than I expected.

"A new fear, maybe," he said coolly, unbothered by my outburst. "Perhaps not ever remembering your past? Not knowing who you were?"

I gasped and shut my eyes. I remembered my time back in Arhkam, facing my mirror and simply gazing, _staring_ at my reflection, questioning who the woman looking back at me was.

"Is that your new fear?" Scarecrow's chilling voice asked.

"Stop…"

"I'm helping you."

"No, you're not." My stomach lurched around, and I whimpered as my world tipped violently. "Make it stop," I pleaded.

"Tell me your true fear."

"I don't know…" My ears perked at the sound of a splash. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Another splash and sound became muffled.

"No…" I opened my mouth, and something rushed in, choking me. I spat it out, finding nothing in my mouth.

"Tell me what you're experiencing." The voice was muffled, but I knew it was still him.

I ignored him as I whimpered. Something was tied around my ankle, cutting off the circulation. My world tipped and continued to until I felt gravity pulling me up. Or was I hanging upside down?

A pitiful whine escaped my lips as I heard the sound of water over my head – or down below? I opened my eyes and cried.

I hung over a harbor, looking out over the lights of a city. Gotham…the name raced through my mind. I dangled upside down, and when I looked at my ankle, a cord hugged it tightly. My limbs refused to move, I couldn't try to break the cord. Helpless again, I looked down.

The water. Stomach lurched. Throat constricted. A scream tried to escape. Helplessly hanging. World turning. Vertigo. Spinning and tipping and flipping. Blood pounding and echoing in the ears.

"NO!"

The yell pierced through the vision, distorting what had become my reality. My scream broke through the barrier, and I threw my head back into the headrest. Lights of agony exploded through my head, and I fell silent.

"You interfered with my experiment," a man yelled, angrily.

"How _dare_ you use her for your bloody experiment?" a female voice shrieked back in response. There was grunt and the sound of glass shattering on the floor.

"It doesn't matter who the patient is."

"_She_ is off-limits." A crash echoed in my throbbing head.

"Don't throw your heels at me," the man shouted. Another crash followed the first one, along with a scream of frustration.

"I _told_ you that it wasn't her fault."

"I wasn't doing it to her for her benefit but for the clown's."

A slap sounded. "_Never_ use her. You hear me? _Never_!"

Someone shifted beside me, and cool hands touched my face. "Sara," the woman's voice whispered near my ear. "Sara, can you hear me?"

I gave no response, barely hanging onto consciousness. Shaking hands touched my arms as they removed the straps. Once I was free, I felt my body peeled away from the chair, and someone guided my arm to drape over the woman's shoulders.

"Sara, please, give me some response."

My thoughts had scattered, my world tipping one way and then the other, swinging and throwing me off. I managed barely to lift a foot and set it down again, a few centimeters forward.

"That's it, Sara," the woman encouraged. "Slide your foot forward."

I tried, and it proved harder than lifting it. Again, I lifted my foot, but before I placed it, the room spun. My stomach revolted, and I vomited violently, half choking.

"She's making a mess," the man's voice complained from the other side of the room.

"Shut your mouth and get out of my way, or I'll let her vomit on your suit next," the woman snapped. In a calmer, quieter voice, she said, "I've got you. Steady there. I'm taking you home."

* * *

**Lordlink13: Boy, the hatred between Shadow and Tew, talk about _hea-ted_. Read and Review.**


	24. Removing All Doubt

**Lordlink13: Forgive me, guys. Internet at my complex is being a jerk, and Finals are right around the corner. Don't worry, might have a treat in store for you all by the end of this week. Thanks for being patient.**

* * *

The door ripped away from the hinges, Detective Tew following it to the floor but catching himself and rolling back to his feet. "Where is she?" he demanded, face red with fury.

"Tew," Bullock said, filing in behind the outside detective, grabbing him by the collar and jerking him back. Nash followed, shaking his head and throwing a dark glare at Tew. It took the three of them a few moments to find the woman sitting on the couch, wearing a bathrobe, waiting for them and holding a cup of coffee.

"I hope you plan on fixing that before you leave," Xander said tartly, glancing at the door lying pitifully on the carpet.

"There she is," Tew exclaimed. Bullock jerked his collar, choking him a little.

Xander's eyebrows rose. "Well, if it isn't my creepy stalker ex-boyfriend Drew," she said, "Come for another round?"

Tew's eyes narrowed, and with a jerk, he twisted out of Bullock's grip. "I don't stalk you, Alexandra," he said, proudly. "I'm hunting you down for all the cold-blooded murders you committed."

"Are you still having delusions about that?" she asked, concerned. "You should really get that checked." His face tightened. "Besides, if I've done anything wrong, I'd like to see your proof."

"The 47 killings. Shot by a sniper."

"And you think it's me."

"I don't think-."

"That's obvious," Nash muttered.

"I _know_ it's you," Tew finished with a growl, throwing an angry glare at the other detective.

"Savage, delusional beasts like you don't belong in here," Xander retorted. "You realize you need more than your gut feeling to accuse me of anything."

"Wait until I have a search warrant," Tew said. "I'll find whatever you're hiding."

"Go ahead and look around now. If you wait for a search warrant, I'd have time to remove my 'treasures'." She put air quotes on the last word. She looked at Bullock. "Search the place, if you like, Detective. You might find something, but there are no guarantees."

"Yes, search the apartment," Tew ordered.

"Even if there was something to find, Tew, anything we found wouldn't be usable in court," Nash said, jabbing Tew in the back with a finger. He glanced at Xander. "You know that, correct?"

"Of course. You're still free to check."

Tew moved for the backroom, but Nash grabbed his collar, yanking him back. "You're not in charge, Tew," Bullock said. "I apologize for this inconvenience, Miss Eccleston."

"With him, it happens all the time," Xander said. "Don't worry about it."

"We were going to knock. We wanted to ask you some questions."

Xander waved her coffee, sipping it. "Shoot," she said.

"Nash, take Tew outside."

"No, I'm staying here," Tew insisted. "She's a suspect in my case. I need to hear her statement, the same as you." Nash and Bullock exchanged looks.

"Just let him stay," Xander said with a sigh. "There's no point arguing with him. He'll believe his delusions until the day he dies." Tew's eyes darkened.

Bullock retrieved a notepad from his inside coat pocket and clicked his pen, setting it against the paper. "It's just a few questions, verifying your whereabouts tonight." Xander motioned for him to continue. "Where were you at about eight twenty?"

"At dinner with Bruce Wayne," she replied, "He had a reservation at the Iceberg Lounge."

Bullock nodded as he scribbled what she said down. "When did you leave?"

"About an hour or so later."

"Where did you go?"

"We drove home, well, I drove here. He drank a little too much so I figured he shouldn't be behind the wheel."

"Very responsible," Nash said, pointedly at Tew who ignored him, scribbling in his own notepad.

"Is he still here?"

"In the bedroom," she replied with a straight face. "I told him to go lie down. I stayed up and watched a movie. I was getting ready to head to bed when Tew broke down my door."

"I sincerely apologize for that."

"Again, don't worry about it."

"Did anything unusual occur before you left Iceberg Lounge?"

"Not that I can think of. I was focused on getting Bruce to the car. I might have missed something though."

"All right," Bullock said, snapping his notepad closed. "I thank you for your time. Here's my card, if you think of anything else."

Xander took it, glancing at the card as she stood up. "I will be sure to call, Detective Bullock," she said, shaking his hand. "I hope you don't mind fixing the door before you go."

"No problem, Miss Eccleston," Nash said. "Tew's a nifty handyman."

"Thank you, Detective," Xander said politely, adjusting her bathrobe. Bullock nodded, and she excused herself, heading into her bedroom and closing the door.

"I'm not going to fix her door," Tew protested.

Bullock brought his face close to Tew's. "Shut up and do it, Tew, or you'll have to deal with the Commissioner. And you wouldn't like it. Got it?"

Tew stiffened his lip. "Got it," he said, grudgingly.

"Good." Bullock shouldered past him and headed out to avoid giving Tew time to argue last minute.

Nash remained behind. He smirked. "Mind if I help?" he asked.

"Go away," Tew growled, bending to grab the door. As he began to lift it, Nash stepped on it, smashing Tew's fingers underneath it. Tew gasped in pain and tried to free himself, but Nash wouldn't let up.

"Where's McKinley, you sonovabitch?"

"What?" Tew looked up at him, facing Nash's dark expression. "I didn't know you knew such words. I thought you only knew numbers and computers."

Nash crouched, applying more pressure on Tew's fingers, and looked him in the eyes. "She went with you into the warehouse. I don't see her here. Where is she?"

"I took her home. The catwalk gave out, and she fell off."

"That fall would have landed her in the hospital, if she survived," Nash said, darkly.

"I swear," Tew whimpered in agony. "Just her apartment."

Nash waited a moment before stepping off the door. Tew ripped his fingers out from underneath, holding them tightly and causing himself more pain. "I'm going to check, and if she's not there or in bad condition, you will wish you've never met her." With a final glare, Nash left and headed for the stairs.

Tew cursed under his breath as he lifted the door again, biting his lip against the pain in his fingers. He heard a door and then felt a sharp pain in his foot as something dropped like a dead weight on it. Swearing loudly, he released the door, spinning to come face-to-face with Xander.

"Found the toolbox," she said, coolly.

"And dropped it on my foot!"

"It slipped. And no yelling, Bruce is sleeping." Tew's eyes flashed as he crouched by the toolbox.

"He's your type," Tew remarked. "Rich, no personality. Did you wait before or after he fell asleep to shag him?"

Xander kicked him hard in the groin. As he collapsed to the ground, groaning in agony, she crouched and said, "Wouldn't _you_ like to know."

"Bitch," he grunted.

"Fix the door, Andrew." He huffed, but she ignored him. She moved over into the kitchen, pouring herself another cup of coffee before she sat down with a book at the counter, keeping an eye on Tew.

When he finished, he brought the toolbox to the counter. "Door's fixed," he said, coldly, and then he headed for it.

"Wait, Drew." He pulled open the door, turned, and glared at the use of his nickname. Xander approached him. "Here's a parting gift." She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a long kiss. As they parted, Tew swayed unsteadily on his feet. "Now, get lost and leave me alone," Xander said, giving him a violent shove. Unprepared and caught off guard, he fell backwards out into the hallway. Xander slammed the door shut and dead bolted it.

Tew immediately banged loudly on her door, causing it to bow under his heavy hits. "I said to get _lost_, Tew," she told him.

"I'm not leaving until you give yourself up."

"You can wait _all night_. Beware, the landlady doesn't take well to scum on her paying tenants' stoops. That, and she can smell delusional detectives like you miles away. So, if she hasn't gotten you yet, she'll get you soon if you don't leave."

Tew hesitated but then threatened through the door. "I'll get you."

"Keep telling yourself that," Xander exclaimed. "You have for five years now." He swore at her. "Stop calling me names and jump off a cliff, Tew." She shuffled into her kitchen, placed her empty cup into the sink, and wandered into the bedroom, clicking off the living room light.

In the bedroom, she kicked her closet door. "Get out," she ordered.

The door opened, and Jonathan Crane stepped out. He started for the unconscious form of Wayne on the bed, but Xander blocked his way.

"Out of my way," Crane said, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

"Wayne's not going anywhere. He'll be here when you get back," Xander said, tartly.

Crane stepped forward, but despite his towering height, she didn't back down. He looked at her, which meant he had to look down since she was about seven inches shorter. Immediately, he averted his eyes.

"Would you mind putting some clothes on?" he asked, plainly.

The thin line of her lips curved. She stepped forward, purposely pressing herself against him. "You feel threatened?" she asked, eyeing him up and down.

Crane stepped away, reddening slightly. "You interfered with my experiment," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm not checking her."

Xander's expression hardened, and she stepped forward again, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Listen to me. If you don't come with me to give Shadow the antidote, I'll knock you out, like Wayne, and I'll drop you off on the GCPD's doorstep. I'm sure they would love for you to come for a visit."

Crane looked down at her again, making eye contact only. Xander's lips curved into a smug smile when he sighed, turning for the door. "Please put some clothes on," he said as he left the bedroom.

"Oh, c'mon, you know you like it," she called after him. He didn't respond, and she chuckled as she grabbed a shirt and jeans. "Should the shirt be low-cut?" Again, she received no answer so she dressed and came out wearing a low-cut shirt with the jeans.

Crane scoffed at the sight of her, looking away as he reddened.

"Are you blushing?"

"No."

Xander smiled. "Sure. Let's go. Shadow's apartment, now."

They passed Nash in the hallway, and while Xander's heart leaped into her throat, he and Crane merely exchanged nods but said nothing as they passed. However, he stopped and faced Xander. "Sorry about her door. I figured you're the one who brought her home."

"You caught me, Detective. You going to turn me in?"

Nash shook his head. "You're not my case."

Crane halted and turned. "Xander, he's a criminal."

Xander raised an eyebrow. Nash smiled. "Think about it," he said and then proceeded down the hall toward the stairs. Xander blinked, trying to think of it, but it didn't click before Crane started for Shadow's apartment.

The apartment door had been forced against its lock, but it appeared Nash attempted to make sure it wasn't broken. She made a mental note to drop a note to Shadow in case she wasn't around when she became conscious while she shoved Crane into the bedroom.

Shadow hadn't regained consciousness when they arrived. Xander sat on the bed beside her, touching her forehead. Her forehead burned under her hand, her skin glistening with sweat.

"Do you have the antidote?" she asked, looking expectantly at Crane.

He shook his head. "It's a new formula."

"So you don't have one?" Her anger flooded into her voice. "How _dare_ you."

"It isn't permanent," Crane told her, calmly. "It'll wear off in her sleep."

"How can you be sure?"

"Does she have a fever?" Xander nodded. "Then, she'll sweat the toxin out. She'll recover. May I observe my _other_ patient now?"

"Wait in the living room." Xander wet a washcloth in the bathroom and placed it on Shadow's forehead, brushing her red hair out of her face. She didn't want to leave Shadow by herself, wishing she'd be there when she woke up, but Xander didn't trust Crane alone in her apartment. "Forgive me, kiddo," she whispered, stroking her head. She planted a light kiss on Shadow's forehead and then left the bedroom. "Okay, let's go," she told Crane. She kept the living room lights on to dissuade anyone from breaking and entering, something she would explain to Shadow when she came around.

Xander sat on the foot of her bed, closely watching Crane as he observed Wayne. Wayne had broken out into a sweat, with a rising fever, similar to Shadow's. Crane checked his vitals regularly, jotting down notes on a small pad.

"So, are you a medical doctor or a mental doctor?" she asked, in way of conversation, but also curious about his notes.

"A psychiatrist," he said, "Mental doctor."

"So why are you taking notes of his vitals?" Crane gave her a look. She smiled; despite his cool expression, she could tell she had successfully annoyed him.

"Can't…let them…know," Wayne mumbled.

Crane scribbled away on his notepad.

"Let me guess," Xander said, "Feverishly talking about not letting someone know a secret."

Crane closed his notepad, stood up, and left without a word. Xander jumped up and followed him. He opened her door and then stopped when she told him to wait.

"You're not going back to sleep in an abandoned warehouse, are you?" she asked. He didn't respond so she said, "You can sleep here, if you like. The bed is fairly free." Crane's lips thinned. Xander smiled and motioned him back in. He stepped into the living room, and she retrieved pillows and blankets from the closet.

Xander curled up on the couch and sighed. After a moment, she opened her eyes. Crane pushed a stray strand of hair from her face. "Creep." She smiled but then noticed a sad gleam in his eyes. "Are you all right?"

He didn't reply, instead his attention focused on stroking her hair. Xander watched him, several thoughts wandering through her mind of what he could possibly be sad about. Then, she remembered that he had lost his love to the man who had meant to kill Shadow. Seeing the sadness, she felt a wave of sympathy toward him, despite how frustrated he made her.

Without speaking, Crane finally settled down on the floor, pulling his blanket over him and turning his back to her. Xander watched him until his breathing had deepened.

She didn't know when she fell asleep, but the next thing she knew, Crane shook her shoulder. "Wake up," he said softly. "You have a part to play."

Xander rolled over onto her back and stretched, yawning and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Come on, Bruce isn't going to wait for you."

In a panic, she sat up violently. "He's awake?"

"No, but he will be soon." Crane stood and straightened his suit, heading for the door. His hand touched the doorknob, and he stopped. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, "Thank-you, Xander."

"You're welcome," she replied. He smiled and left.

Xander replaced the pillows and blankets in her bedroom closet. She changed back into her pajamas before she crawled underneath the covers on her bed, purposely avoiding touching Wayne. A few minutes later, he stirred and stroked her cheek.

She resisted the temptation to snap at him. She had been halfway to deep sleep, and he woke her. He continued to stroke her cheek while she told herself to keep herself in line. Finally, when she thought she was ready, she opened her eyes. "Morning," she murmured.

He smiled, and she fought the urge to break his teeth. "Sleep well?"

"Of course."

Wayne got up and moved into the bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Xander shot out of the bed and headed into the kitchen, fixing herself a cup of coffee. Another one awaited Wayne when he appeared again, his suit less ruffled than when he woke up in it.

"Just one," he said. "I have to get home and get ready for work." Xander nodded and watched while he drank his coffee. "What happened last night?" he asked. "I don't quite remember."

"I don't doubt it. You drank quite a bit."

"Normally, I don't drink that much. How much did I have?"

"Enough to make you drunk." Xander smiled at him over her coffee. "We made a bet to see how many drinks you could drink before you got drunk. You exceeded my expectation, but, then again, you kept drinking even though you were already drunk. Anyway, you passed out in the car so I brought you here." She smacked her forehead. "I forgot to call your butler and let him know that you were staying with me."

"Don't worry," he said, gently caressing her hand while he reached for his cell in his pocket. He gave his butler a quick call, telling him that he'll be heading home in a few minutes to change before work.

At the door, Wayne kissed her gently, a kiss Xander endured, trying not to think about how good of a kisser he was.

"Have a good day at work," Xander told him.

"See you tonight?" Wayne asked.

"Tomorrow night. I have plans with a friend." He nodded and kissed her again before he opened the door.

* * *

The blaring of my alarm woke me, and my hand slammed down on it. After a moment, I sat up, rubbing my eyes and yawning.

I stopped as I realized I was in my bed. I hadn't fallen asleep here; I was sure of it. Confused, I wandered into the bathroom and splashed cold water in my face, shivering as the liquid dripped down my neck. Lifting my head, I faced my reflection in the mirror, seeing dark circles under my eyes, which were a normal sight.

Drying my face, I paused as last night flooded back. The warehouse, Tew, strapped to a chair, dosed with Scarecrow's fear toxin, a woman saying she was taking me home. Xander.

Hurriedly, I pulled on shoes and a jacket before racing out the door.

I sped down the apartment stairs, taking two steps at a time. Reaching Xander's floor, I ran for her door but skidded to a halt when I spotted Bruce Wayne leaving her apartment. I panicked, and my mind went blank. Forcing myself to move, I walked casually, as if I were headed somewhere beyond her place. Wayne headed in my direction, and my heart pounded in my chest. I couldn't have him knowing that I hung around Xander; with Tew as my partner on the Sniper case, the last thing I needed was for him to find that I was actually friends with her.

Wayne passed me with a polite nod, straightening his tie as he went. I exhaled, relieved, but then, he said, "Wait, I know you."

I froze. His footsteps retraced back to me, and somehow, I managed to turn to face him. "Ms. McKinley," he said, "Well, now you're Detective McKinley."

"How do you know me?" I asked. I had a sneaking suspicion that he planned to lie to me, in which case I would catch him easily. I had successfully found out Jason had lied to me, about some things; it shouldn't be too hard to catch Wayne.

He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "You worked for the Joker at that point, before you lost your memory."

"When did this happen?" I asked him.

"We crossed paths a few times, never really said anything. I met you in the hospital. I had offered to pay for your operation when the accident happened."

"I don't remember this."

"You weren't quite awake at the time. I've talked with Mr. Bleak, a fine fellow he is. I paid for your medical bills."

"You shouldn't have."

He shrugged. "It was the least I can do. You're a good Gotham citizen. You've been a good detective, from what I've heard."

I forced a smile. "Well, I appreciate what you've done for me. I owe you my life."

Again, he shrugged. "Don't mention it. Have a good day, Detective." Once he was out of sight, I breathed easier and then went and knocked on Xander's door.

She opened it immediately, standing in the doorway, wearing a purple tank top and dark green penguin boxers. "Good. It's you," she said.

"Hoping it was Wayne?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her face darkened. "Get in here."

I quickly stepped in before she shut the door in my face. "Um, do I want to know?" I asked, gesturing to her appearance. "Are you a fan of the Penguin or the Joker?"

"No, and hell no. If you know what's good for you, change the subject." She motioned toward the kitchen. "Help yourself. Make me a cup of coffee, would you?"

I agreed, and she headed into her bedroom, closing the door. While I prepared a cup of coffee for her – I didn't want any – I swiftly took in the state of the apartment, finding that the living area hadn't been messed with except the couch, which certainly looked like it had been slept on. Unable to resist, I wondered if it had been Xander or Wayne who had slept on the couch. Remembering Scarecrow's victims from the Lounge, my guess was that it had been Xander.

Speaking of the devil, she reappeared, still dressed in her pajamas and scrubbing her face. "Don't say anything," she said, tossing the washcloth aside.

I held up my hands defensively. "Never said anything."

"I can hear you judging me." She took up her cup and sipped at it, humming pleasantly to herself.

"I didn't _say_ anything."

"Judging thoughts." This time, she smiled before she took another sip of the hot liquid. I grinned. "Did you want any?"

I shook my head, watching her as she sipped a third time. "So, it was you last night, right?" Xander eyed me over the rim of her coffee. "You stopped Scarecrow from making it worse."

"No," she said, "I was too late."

"Too late? You stopped him from continuing to experiment on me."

"His toxin was already in you. All he was going to do was observe you." She sipped her coffee in thought. "One thing to your advantage was Scarecrow using a new formula that doesn't remain in the system for very long. You reached the worst by the time I got there, and basically, you slept it off."

"Why did you take Wayne to Crane?"

"Fair trade."

I gave her a look. "You know what I mean."

She set her mug down. "You hungry?" she asked. "I'm hungry. Let's go out to eat."

She was evading the question. If a headache hadn't risen from the depths, I would have pressured her, but I let it slip. Instead, I grinned and said, "You better put on some clothes before we go." She stuck out her tongue as she opened a cabinet and tossed me a small bottle. "Take them," she ordered and went to change. I glanced at the bottle, reading _Tylenol_. Shaking my head, I popped three of them.

The diner we chose was only a few blocks away from our apartment building so we walked there. Over eggs, bacon, and pancakes, I tried to prompt answers from Xander.

"Saw you on the news yesterday," I told her.

"Hm," she responded, chewing a bit of bacon.

"Tew flipped."

She swallowed. "I don't doubt it. I would have loved to see that. Must have been a sight."

I nodded. "He's all over you."

"I sent him packing after he fixed my door."

"Your…door?" I asked, confused.

She smiled, her eyes wandering upwards. "Tew…barged into my apartment, and Detectives Bullock and Nash had to apologize for his idiocy. He doesn't know how to knock. He doesn't understand the concept."

I smiled. "You in trouble?"

"You asking if they caught on?" I nodded, and she shook her head. "Tew's in trouble though."

"Do I want to know?"

"No doubt you'll hear all about it at work." She leaned forward. "Better leave you in the dark so true surprise will show on your face."

"Ah ha," I said. "Wait, let me guess. Tew tried to search your apartment and made a complete fool of himself because he broke down your door."

Xander laughed, shrugging. "I tried," she said and sipped her coffee.

I stirred my own, having finished my plate. "I never asked you about Tew and how you two met. He's an ex, isn't he?"

"Unfortunately," she said, looking out the window.

"I can't quite tell if he's angry with you over something or if he wants you back."

"Believe me, it's most likely a little of both." Our waitress passed by, and Xander asked for a refill. Once she had left, Xander carefully placed her coffee between her hands, as if warming them. Seeing that something was on her mind, I waited for her to speak, or even to look me in the eyes, but she didn't, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

"Did I tell you about when I walked into the recruiting office?"

She took me by surprise. "Recruiting office?" I asked, confused.

"I wasn't magically a sniper. I was trained, of course."

"You didn't have someone teach you to shoot?"

"Shoot, yes, but not snipe. One of Michael's men showed me, behind his boss's back." She finally looked up, a pained look in her eyes. I bit my lip, realizing too late that I could possibly have stepped on dangerous territory. Last time I pried, Xander had killed 47 people in one night. I couldn't take it back now so I waited, mentally preparing myself for the worst.

Xander broke her gaze with me and looked out the window again, this time looking miserable. "I told you about meeting each of my brothers. I spent more time with my other half-brother than the clownish one. One disagreement and I left the clown. I just happened by Tew. It wasn't much of a relationship; he wanted more than what I was willing to give. I was eighteen, parents gone, my tormenter dead. I was angry. A young girl who got caught up in the military hype. I had no future, as far as I could see. I felt the desperate need to join, for the structure.

"I stumbled into the recruiting office and walked out a recruit. It gave me a reason to finally break up with Tew and stop his complaints about how I wasn't treating _him_ right." She scoffed darkly. "When I told him it was over, that I was headed to basic training, he _flipped_."

"That must have been a sight."

"Wish I had caught it on video. Anyway, went off to basic and he went off to the police academy, as far as I knew. He left me alone between basic and my first deployment, but then when on leave, he found me again, the first time. I'd really hoped that he had moved on, but he didn't."

"He's not the type to simply let go."

"I think he'd been abusing his power as a cop. Eventually, I got discharged. Psychiatrists, who needs them? They said I wasn't fit for active duty; they wanted to put me on a desk job. I kinda went AWOL. Ended up revamping myself into the Xander you know now." She spread her hands and said, "Ta-da" to which I smiled. "Tew's been stalking me for a _long_ time. He may call it his _job_ or _assignment_, but for him, it's a lot more personal than that."

After she had finished, I had a probing thought. "Isn't the military after you?"

Xander giggled. "The joys of living off the grid." She smirked. "No one can find you."

"Except Tew."

"Don't ruin the moment."

"Do you think the military would ever hire him to find you?"

"They'd send him to a few psychiatrists first, to which he wouldn't pass, so no.

"Well, we both know that he's crazy and obsessed." After a moment, I added, "Actually, the MCU knows he's crazy. Last night, he was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to convince everyone that you were involved with Scarecrow's plan."

"Really?"

I nodded, and as Xander burst out laughing, I joined in. "There's that saying: 'It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt'. Tew succeeds in removing all doubt with every _action_ he makes."

Xander shook her head, grinning. "I hate him so much," she said finally. "He's such an asshat."

* * *

**Lordlink13: Was this chapter meant for Tew? Not completely. Was it still meant to make fun of him? Yes. The plot progresses, and I know you all wanted to see the Joker for awhile and for Shadow to return to the Joker. We shall see. It is coming, and I'm trying to pick up the pace of writing again. Thanks,** ShadowCat98**, for the joker-faced cupcake. It was yummy.**** Read and Review.**


	25. The Videotape

Xander and I talked for some time, but the conversation ended shortly after. She received a call on her mobile, and she became frustrated with the person on the other end. I decided not to tease her about it. She paid for the meal, and we parted ways outside the diner.

As I entered my apartment, my own cell phone rang. Upon answering, I heard Nash's voice, telling me that I was on duty within the next hour.

"_How are you feeling?"_ he asked.

"Exhausted, with a headache. Nothing new," I replied as I picked my clothes out.

"_I came by to check on you. I hope your door still works."_

Confused, I went to check my door. "It still works, and it looks fine. I'll just patch it up a bit when I come home. How long am I working?"

"_No idea."_

"The joy of working as a detective," I murmured. I thanked him, told him I would be in within the hour, and hung up.

The cops were a chattering bunch when I arrived. I soon found out why they were so excited. Heading into the back, I spotted Nash, Bullock, and Murphy in the breakroom enjoying coffee. When I entered, Nash invited me over.

"Tew's getting a lecture from the Commissioner," he said in explanation for the cops' excitement.

"Tell me it's because he was a douche."

He shrugged. "No, he broke into someone's apartment last night without reason. After whatever happened at the warehouse, he found Bullock and I and insisted on coming along." He sighed. "I hate him. He makes the rest of us, real detectives, look bad."

"Who's apartment?" I asked curiously, even though I already knew the answer.

"Alexandra Eccleston, your suspect for the Sniper case."

"So far, she's not _my_ suspect. She's Tew's."

"She's a nice woman," Bullock said. "Despite how much you hate Tew, you should probably humor him and interview her at some point."

"Do you think she's the Sniper?"

"Criminals can hide their true identities." Bullock shrugged. "Again, humor him regardless. His pride is going to be wounded after the Commissioner's through with him."

"Even if any of it was still intact, I was going to break it," I said, bitterly.

"What did he do at the warehouse?" Nash asked.

I hesitated, not knowing what to tell them. I wanted to get Tew into more trouble, but that would also give away Xander's identity. I played confused. "I…don't really remember. All I remember is falling and hitting my head."

Bullock and Murphy sighed in unison, both discouraged. Nash, on the other hand, continued to look at me, as if he knew I was lying. After a minute, he set his empty cup into the sink and left. Confused and determined to find out why he was acting this way, I hurried after him.

"Nash," I said, calling his attention, "What's with the look?"

He motioned me into his office, and warily, I followed. After closing the door, he said, "Tew told me that you fell off the catwalk. He claimed he drove you home."

"He didn't have a car unless he used a taxi."

"McKinley," he said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I _know_ Ms. Eccleston brought you home. She's working with Scarecrow." My eyes widened. "And obviously, you knew this."

I didn't know how to react. Blankly, I stared at him, my heart pounding against my ribs. After a moment, I wetted my lips slowly. "So…" My voice cracked, and he raised an eyebrow. Clearing my throat, I tried again. "So what do you plan on doing then?"

"Nothing," he said, plainly.

I couldn't believe it. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I asked, "What do you mean 'nothing'?"

"Exactly what I said. Nothing." Suddenly hating him, I narrowed my eyes, frowning. A smile curved onto his lips. "McKinley, criminals are attracted to one another, whether they are ex or not. Besides, I trust you."

"Trusting me has nothing to do with this," I blurted out, anger surging through me. Was he mocking me? "Once Gordon is finished with Tew, you should be going in there and telling him of my actions."

He shook his head. "I'm a criminal as well, McKinley." My mouth dropped. "You didn't suspect it, did you? We've met before you lost your memory, but I'm not going to tell you how. You have the mind of a detective, figure it out."

He walked toward his desk, passing me, and I stepped out of his way. As he seated himself, I turned and watched him, closing my mouth. How couldn't I have noticed? "Are you active?" I asked.

"On and off," he replied nonchalantly, shifting papers on his desk, clearing a space. "None of your concern, mind you. I'm not going to do anything to hurt you."

"Unless you already have."

He glanced at me, hearing the suspicion in my voice. "That is for you to decide." He returned to clearing his desk. "Whenever the Commissioner is done with Tew, he wants to see you next."

"You're kidding me."

He scoffed and looked up again, this time giving me a serious expression. "Not this time, McKinley."

I left him, swearing in my head. I disappeared into my small office, locking the door and sliding to the floor, hyperventilating. It was simply too much to take in after last night. Nash knew. _And_ he was a criminal, active, didn't matter that he was supposedly 'on and off'. My head hurt…_so…much_.

I don't know how long I had been sitting there, rocking myself back and forth, but I choked on a shriek when someone knocked loudly on my door. Scrambling to my feet, I rubbed my face, taking a deep breath before opening the door.

The Commissioner stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry, McKinley," he said, "You're aware I wanted to talk to you?" I nodded, not trusting my voice at that moment. "You don't mind us talking here, do you?"

I shook my head. "C'mon in, Commissioner." He stepped inside, and I closed the door behind him. "Take a seat wherever."

He took the one across from mine, heaving a sigh of weary relief. As I walked around my desk to take my seat, he said, "I wish I hadn't accepted Tew. He's caused too many problems in this unit."

I shrugged, leaning back in my chair, hoping it would put me at ease. It didn't help much. "He's difficult to work with."

"If you want me to switch you onto a different case-."

I shook my head. "No, I'll stick with him. He annoys the hell out of me, but if I switch, I'll have let him won, which is _not_ going to happen."

Gordon smiled. "I knew I chose right in putting you with him. Your temper keeps him in line."

"It's a swift and assertive reaction to bullshit. I don't swallow it." I cleared my throat. "Pardon my language."

He waved it off. "After what Tew pulled yesterday, I've taken back my permission for him to be here, temporally unfortunately, but you're free from him. That leaves you without an active partner for a bit. The Sniper case is on hold for the time being. I'm placing you as Hawkins's partner for tonight."

"What?"

"I know you don't like him either, but he shouldn't be as hard as Tew."

I sighed. "That's true. Tew is all up in my face constantly. Hawkins will eventually back down." Licking my lips, I asked, "Jason's still on the Joker case?"

Gordon nodded. "He'll fill you in." He stood, slowly easing himself off the chair. It always struck me with surprise of how youthful he could be, but the gray hairs and slow movement when he was amongst his cops didn't show that youth. Before he left, he asked, "Are you okay, McKinley, after last night?"

I nodded. "Whenever I remember what exactly happened, you'll be the first to know." Once he had left, I leaned back and put my feet up, focusing on evening out my breathing.

Five minutes later, I knocked on Jason's door. "You're coming to me?" he asked from behind me. I jumped as he reached around me and opened it. "It was unlocked," he said.

"You're a pain in my ass," I said, entering and then turning to face him.

He smiled. "Gordon's told you everything?"

"No, he said you'd fill me in." I narrowed my eyes at him. "So don't leave anything out."

He wandered over to his desk. "I'm sure you know everything about the Joker-."

"Don't start with things I know. What are we doing tonight?"

"I received information from a reliable source that one of the Joker's men will be at the Stacked Deck." Luckily, his back was turned or he would have caught my expression as I realized that I had heard the name of the place before. "You and I will be going undercover to catch this guy."

"Who is it?"

"A Bryan Dunte, age 25, 26, dark hair, brown eyes." Immediately, I thought of Bleak, and my eyes widened. Thanks to my luck, Jason still had his back turned. "We'll catch him, bring him back here, and try to get information out of him."

"You can do that part," I told him, to which he turned with a questioning look on his face. "Just no beating him to a pulp." He chuckled.

While we waited for the given time, I worked on my report from last night, having gone with Bullock and Nash to Iceberg Lounge and to the warehouse. It was harder than usual since generally there wouldn't have been anything for me to hide from anyone, except I was playing that I didn't remember what happened after my fall from the catwalk. Lying on my report bothered me, but I did it to keep Xander out of real trouble.

I avoided Nash during the waiting time, troubled by the secret he had given me. If I happened to spot him, I found myself watching him and whoever he was with closely, trying to discern if anyone else knew about him being a criminal too.

I had a strong sense of déjà vu when Jason parallel parked his car across the street from the Stacked Deck. I hesitated after I stepped out, keeping the car between me and the nightclub. For some reason, I felt that I shouldn't be there, something was going to go down.

"Babe, you coming?" Jason asked, smirking.

Instantly, I forgot the déjà vu. I slammed the car door and stormed around the vehicle. I nearly jabbed him in the eye with my nose. "We are _not_ boyfriend and girlfriend. Do _not_ call me 'babe', 'baby', 'sweetie', 'darling', or any other nickname you can come up with. The name's _Janet_, _Jacob_."

"That's not my name," he said, frowning.

"Oh, right. Let's give you the name of Lyle. It's a _girl's_ name." His face darkened. "Here's a deal for you. I choose my name, you choose yours."

"Fine," he grumbled. Under his breath, he muttered, "Damnit, Janet."

Upon entering, I was greeted with the strong smell of smoke and alcohol. Music played in the background, throbbing throughout the building. I felt it vibrating in the floor, despite the volume not being as loud as it could be. Most of the patrons ignored the music, sitting at the bar and drinking or gathering together at the tables and playing games of poker.

I played my part along with Jason, allowing him to place his arm around my waist, resting his hand on my hip. I understood exactly how Xander felt having to play a part for Wayne; I could sense Jason's enjoyment in my struggle to keep myself from hurting him.

We stayed there for over an hour, dancing together and joining a few poker games together. I hated watching Jason lose all his money to the other players; it was like he had never played the game before. He tried using me as his lucky charm, but I kicked him enough times to give him a painful bruise, or more. Even though I was on duty, I drank a few glasses, just to ease my nerves and so that I wasn't as much of a bitch. I discovered how well I could hold my liquor and wondered if I was an alcoholic at some point in my past.

Jason finally spotted the man we were waiting for. When he pointed him out to me, sitting at a poker table with a girl in his lap, I silently heaved a sigh of relief. The man we had come for wasn't Bleak.

"Would you like to approach him?" Jason whispered into my ear.

I shook my head. "I'll catch him if he tries to run."

"Are you sure you can handle it?"

"I'm not even the slightest bit tipsy. Go do your job."

As he wandered toward the dancers – the long way to get to the wanted man – I noticed someone familiar amongst a group of men hanging by the bar. Without being too conspicuous, I turned to get a better look at him. He caught me looking anyway and ducked behind one of the guys' heads. In that same instance, I felt someone reached over me from behind and set something down in front of me.

When I started to protest and turn to face my personal space invader, they grabbed me, stopping me from moving. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," a cold voice said by my ear. My hand had been reaching instinctively for my gun at my side. "This is a gift to you, from me."

My blood froze. It clicked in my mind whom the man behind me was. Trying hard to keep my composure, I glanced at what he had placed in front of me. I blinked in surprise. It was a videotape.

"What is this?"

"A homemade video of your doctor's appointment."

"How did you get your hands on this?" I asked, hoping to distract him so he wouldn't do anything to me here in the nightclub.

"Hm, good question," he said, his hot breath washing over my neck. I shivered. "I knew something that a certain Hugo Strange didn't want revealed to the public." He clapped a gloved hand on my shoulder. "Don't turn around. Your partner is talking to the guy you want to catch. Don't tell anyone about the videotape. I got it for you alone."

"Quite a gift," I muttered before I could stop myself.

Oddly enough, he merely chuckled. "By the way, you're welcome," he said. Before I could ask what he meant, he withdrew. Instantly, I swiped the videotape and hid it in my jacket. Luckily, it just barely fit into the pocket inside.

Upon finishing stowing it away, a commotion started behind me. Our man was making a break for it and was fighting off Jason. He managed a good punch, causing Jason to release him, and he broke for the door. However, when he tried racing past me, I jumped away from the bar and tackled him from the side. He hit his head on the ground, stunning him, so I was able to swiftly cuff him before he could fight me.

The man spewed profanities the whole ride back to the MCU. He ignored Jason when ordered to shut his mouth, and silently, I laughed at the choice words he had for me. Jason took him through the booking process while I stood by, allowing him to do his job. I kept in mind that I was only his temporary partner; I hoped it only lasted for tonight, despite how much I wished I could be on the Joker case permanently.

Once the man was placed in the interrogation room, Jason took a breathalyzer and pulled me into his office to secretly test the alcohol content in my system. I argued with him, but I ended up taking it anyway, laughing in his face when it was still underneath the legal limit.

"I think you should go home," he said, plainly.

"Way to be blunt, Hawkins," I said, unpleasantly.

"You're on duty. You shouldn't have been drinking."

"I told you it was to play the part. Besides, I stayed underneath the legal limit, and I'm still functioning just fine. _And_, you can't say that my temper was worse because that's my normal temper."

"Strangely enough, you're nicer when you've drunken a bit," he said, watching me suspiciously, like earlier had been me being nicer only for the part, not because I would be pleasant company drunk.

"Not everyone is a _mean_ drunk like you, Jason," I snapped. Too late, it hit me that I didn't really remember that bit of information, but now that I thought about it, I remembered a few times when he had been a complete jerk when he was drunk. He had even tried to hit me a few times, but I had been trained to defend myself so he didn't end up laying a finger on me. However, he still had the intent to hurt me, which didn't make his situation any better for him.

"I still think you'd be better off at home. There's nothing else I need you for my case."

"I can work on my own here."

"If you do, I'll tell the Commissioner you drank while on duty," Jason said, taking out his phone.

"What are we? In kindergarten, who's the tattletale?"

"Very funny," he deadpanned. "This is Tew's phone number. You can still work with him; the Commissioner only told him to stay out of the MCU for a day or two. He's probably out there working on his own, and I don't doubt Gordon would want you keeping an eye on him." Jason held out his phone on which the screen revealed Tew's cell number. I took out my own phone and saved the number.

"I guess I'll go tell the Commissioner what I'm doing," I said, turning and heading for the door.

"Don't worry about it," Jason said, grabbing my arm. "He wants to be there for the interrogation. I'll let him know for you."

"I'm not letting you do me a favor," I told him, bluntly.

"I won't consider it a favor then."

"Fine, but if you suddenly change your mind in the future, I'm kicking your ass." Without giving him time to reply, I left.

I waited until I was a block away from the MCU before I pulled out my phone and called Tew's number. It rang behind me, scaring me. I turned immediately to find Tew standing directly behind me.

"I guess I didn't have to call then," I said, narrowing my eyes at him while I tucked my phone back into my pocket.

"I saw that man slipping you that tape," he said. "I want that tape."

I realized it would be best not to pretend that I didn't know what he was talking about. Honestly, I never trusted anyone who said that phrase: _I don't know what you're talking about_. "It's not for you," I told him.

"It was given to my partner. I have every right to it."

I smirked. "Do you think it has something to do with the case? Because it doesn't. It has no connection to Sniper or any other criminal."

"Hand it over," he ordered.

"I don't think so. It's none of your business."

"I will have it. It's your choice whether we do this the easy way or the hard way."

"Lay a finger on me, and you'll regret it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Throwing around threats now, are we?"

"You started it. And there's a difference between the two of us. You threaten with only your authority. I threaten with the authority of the MCU. You haven't made any friends amongst them, Tew."

"I don't care about what they think. I'm taking that tape, McKinley."

I crossed my arms defiantly, debating knocking him unconscious right now so I could head home. He would run directly to Jason or to the Commissioner, and it didn't matter if I was the preferred detective; I would be suspended regardless. Though, if he did that, I had something held against him; the catwalk only gave out before he pulled the lever to drop it.

Tew held out his hand. "Be intelligent for once, McKinley. Give me the tape."

"No, _you_ be intelligent. You take the tape from me, and I'll let everyone know the true reason why the catwalk gave out underneath me." He hid his disappointment well behind his anger. "Did you believe that I would have forgotten about our little adventure last night?"

"It was in your statement." His mouth curved into a sneer. "You're hiding something else besides what I did. Knowing you, you wouldn't give up the chance to tattletale on me unless you're hiding something else."

"Maybe I figured it wouldn't be good for our investigation. Ever thought of that?"

"I don't think so. I have a few theories."

"They're hypothesizes unless you can actually prove them. You can't just rely on your gut."

"Regardless, we both have something over the other."

I laughed. "Hardly. Keep telling yourself that."

"Give me the tape, and I won't say anything."

"How 'bout I _don't_ give you the tape, and you prove yourself more of an idiot." He glared. I returned the gaze, refusing to allow any hints that he was correct show through my uncaring, mocking façade.

"Then, you're taking the hard way."

"Not really. If you want, we can both go skipping to the Commissioner to tattle at the same time. See who he believes?" I raised an eyebrow. "Sound good to you, Tew?"

"Never mind," he said, grudgingly. "Just drop it."

"Dropping it is good. Now, how 'bout investigating tonight?" Tew turned and walked away. In my head, I celebrated; I could go home now.

My apartment felt eerily quiet. Paranoid, I went through and checked every room and corner with my Slavic pistol leading – a gift from Xander to replace the Glock. Finding no one, I still hesitated to relax; something felt off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I made myself dinner, smelling everything and making sure no one had attempted to add a special ingredient – not like it was guarantee that I'd catch a whiff of it.

After popping the videotape into an old VCR, I settled on the couch but stood up to open a window. I didn't know what had happened during my hypnotherapy session back in Arkham, but I knew that something had occurred. Settling down again, I pressed play.

The video began in a room located in the hospital wing. I sighed, feeling a wave of relief that there was _something_ I remembered well enough. Within the room was Dr. Strange and Dr. Young – I subconsciously clenched my jaw at seeing her again – and me, tipped back and strapped to the chair, wires attached to my forehead and my left arm. The doctors settled down, preparing to begin the session. Dr. Strange explained about how they might discover the reason for my insomnia at the same time, to which I commented, _Two for the price of one_.

He instructed me to close my eyes and imagine a place of safety. This I remembered, closing my eyes and trying to picture being in a room, alone, in bed. Dr. Strange began to describe it: _quiet, peaceful_. I almost closed my eyes in reality, but I resisted, feeling the need to watch the video and see what exactly happened when I went under.

Within a minute, my body had completely relaxed, but my eyebrows had lowered, as if I was struggling to awaken. Upon Dr. Strange's command to awaken, I instantly knew that the me lying in that chair was not who I was now. In my mind, I called her the real Shadow.

_Shadow opened her eyes and instantly jerked, blinking her eyes against the bright lights as she struggled against the straps. "What the hell?" she demanded. Strange and Young stood, but Young motioned Strange down as she approached._

"_McKinley, you need to calm down," she instructed._

_Shadow's eyes widened upon seeing her. "Raven?"_

"_If that is who you think I am, that's fine, but as you should remember, my name is Dr. Young."_

"_Whatever your name is then, where the hell am I?" Shadow demanded, angrily. Her eyes blazed, as if threatening to burn holes into Young._

"_You are in the hospital wing at Arkham Asylum."_

"_What?"_

"_You are under hypnosis so that you may attempt to remember your lost memories."_

"_What are you smoking? I haven't lost any of my memories. As for hypnosis, that's not possible. I'm awake right now."_

"_If you remember everything, then who is your employer?"_

_Shadow's face tightened. "I'm not playing that game with you," she said, the distrust evident in her expression._

"_Consider that as she does remember and that this isn't the conscious McKinley," Young told Strange. Shadow turned her head slightly, unable to move it farther, and spotted Strange. Young stepped closer, her face showing in the light, to which Shadow's eyes again widened and then narrowed. "That is my colleague Dr. Strange. He is – was – conducting the hypnotherapy. Currently, you are under hypnosis, and from how you're acting, this is you before you lost your memories."_

"_The hidden persona due to the injury to your head," Strange commented, scribbling notes down on his notepad._

_Shadow stiffened, and fear flashed in her eyes for a split second before her gaze hardened. "Well, then, say I _am_ under hypnosis. What do you want with me?"_

"_The conscious you doesn't remember anything past the time you awakened in the hospital," Young explained._

"_Here?"_

"_No, in Gotham General. We have conducted this session in the hopes that we might retrieve hints to your memories, for the use of your conscious self."_

"_Sounds like I have a split-personality," Shadow deadpanned. "I can't just run everything off. This hypnosis thing should wear off at some point."_

"_That is true. Please, speak to the camera. Your conscious self will watch this later. And please, speak in code."_

"_Speak in code?" Shadow repeated. "How are those supposed to be hints?"_

"_It will give hints to guide your conscious self to remember. It is part of your recovery."_

"_That's a stupid way of doing it, but fine." She turned her head, facing the camera directly. "They referred to you as McKinley, so I'll address you likewise." She glanced over at Young. "Can I give a basic idea of her personality?"_

"_If you would like. Code words would help the best for her recovery."_

"_And now she's talking about you as if we're not the same person." Shadow rolled her eyes. "All right, grab a pen and paper. They want me to give you code words. Here they are. You ready?"_

As soon as she said to grab a pen and paper, I bolted for my bedroom, snatching my Arkham journal and a pen I kept inside, coming just in time for her to start listing them.

"_These are about you. I hope they help. A beaten car, poker, Five-of-a-Kind, recruited, paralyzing fear, hanging water, hawk." She paused, as if waiting for me to write them down rather than trying to think of other code words she could use. I prepared for the next line, purposely leaving a space between the words to signify her pauses. "Black bird," she began, her eyes shifting toward Young for a second before returning to the camera. "Field protector, question marks, living green, obese bird, flying rodent, furry pet, and scarred laughter."_

_Again, she paused, her gaze intensifying. "Unpredictable, alike, favorite color, recruited."_

"_You already said that," Young said._

_Shadow shushed her without taking her eyes off the camera, off _me_. "A few things you should understand but not these doctors. Explain to them what they mean if you trust them." She paused and then said, "Trust bleak weather. Beware the hunter. Write this down. 'It is, and it is not. It is here, but it is not. It is this, and it is that. It covers the green-eyed one. It is vigilant, brightly colored, overseen by a personage of brilliance. It is guardian. It seeks the harmless being that exists in light and dark. Diligent, it comes, for fear of rivalry. It wants one thing, but wants not another. One it is; multiple it is not, but it is. The bird in is its preparation, unless feather plucked.'_ Remember_."_

"_Was that a riddle?" Strange asked. He too was scribbling down what Shadow said._

Unlike him, I would understand what she was saying. My mind was buzzing even as I watched the video and listened to what she said, but I resisted the urge to explore, knowing that she had more to tell me still.

_Strange asked Shadow to repeat the riddle; she ignored him. "Your ability is to use shadows," Shadow said, forgoing the code words. "It is your escape from this place. _Use it_."_

"_Stop," Strange insisted. "Only code words. She doesn't need to escape from here; we're trying to help her."_

"_Are you trying to stop her from remembering?" Shadow strained against the straps and then relaxed, her eyes locking onto the camera. "Watch and learn, McKinley," she said. Her eyes, which were originally blue, turned purple, and then she was gone. She reappeared a second later, knocking Strange to the floor and grabbing his notes from him. "What I said is for McKinley alone," Shadow yelled furiously, tearing the notes apart._

A gunshot went off outside. I jumped off the couch and ducked down on the ground, thinking someone was shooting at me. A second later, I realized it wasn't me, and I raced for the window, looking out. Another gunshot went off, but it didn't sound like a pistol. Slamming my window shut, I ran out of my apartment, following a hunch.

A third and a fourth shot went off as I progressed to the roof, a fifth one sounded when I came out onto the roof. I spotted the shooter – a sniper, actually – at the edge, her sniper rifle resting easily in her hands as she moved for a sixth shot.

"Ever heard of using a silencer, Xander?" I asked.

"I _wanted_ your stalker to hear it coming," she replied, backing out of the sixth shot.

"Which one?"

"The one who was stalking me all day and then turned around and followed you home after you guys talked."

I thought of a moment. "Tew?"

"Yup, the son of a bitch being a peeping Tom over there. What were you doing that he was so interested in?" she asked, turning to face me, pressing her back into the low wall and putting her sniper rifle away.

"Watching a videotape I received on duty."

"What does he want with it?" she asked.

"I don't know, but he was demanding for it earlier."

Xander rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about him. If he didn't get it from you earlier, there's no chance he'll get it from you ever. I scared him off so he can't see it. Go back and enjoy it. I have to leave soon anyway."

I walked with her down into our apartment building, but then we parted on my floor. Returning to my apartment, I pressed rewind until I saw Shadow rip up the notes. Security was called in, grabbing Shadow and slamming her back down in the chair. She used her ability several times, trying to loosen them, but only ended up transporting all who held onto her. Now I understood why I was chained to the railing along the walls.

Before Strange regained control over Shadow by ending the hypnosis, she managed to mouth the words, "Watch out for Hunter."

* * *

**Lordlink13: Getting this chapter up so fast was my surprise, but most likely, a good number of you already guessed it, or at least hoped for it. Read and Review.**


	26. Setup

I awoke from a night terror, struggling to breathe for a few moments. When the oxygen rushed into my lungs, I coughed, unable to handle it.

I recovered eventually, but it felt like hours. Drinking some cold water from the tap, I glanced at my watch, realizing I had only slept for two hours. My body was running on nervous energy so even if I attempted falling back to sleep, it wouldn't work, especially not after the night terror.

Thinking about it made flashes of it return, and I whimpered, retreating into my bedroom and grabbing my Slavic pistol from underneath my pillow. After pulling on my jacket for warmth, I sat in a metal chair, hiding in the corner of my room, my gun resting in my hands. I fiddled with the safety, flicking it on and off. My eyes stared fearfully about the room, widening at every shadow.

I couldn't relax. I couldn't keep still, bouncing my knee, playing with the safety catch. The comfort of my apartment didn't exist. The buzz of adrenaline still raced through me while I sat there, flinching sharply every time _his_ face flashed across my eyes.

Him. Holding up the metal bat. Prepared to swing. To have it come crashing down into my skull.

If only I could get myself to swallow some Benadryl or some other sleeping medication…

But I hated losing control; I couldn't afford to, not with _him_ out on the run. He could be watching me here and now, ready to strike when I dropped my guard…

I remained in the shadows, senses focused on my environment, even as the sun slowly peeked into the window. Beside my bed, my alarm clock went off, and I let it go until it shut itself off. Minutes ticked by. I still didn't move.

Finally, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. Breaking out of my hyped trance, I stiffly reached into my jacket and pulled it out, checking the screen before flipping it open.

"Hello?" My voice sounded hoarse with exhaustion.

"_Boy, don't you sound wonderful."_ It was Jason. _"Just got up?"_

"Still haven't gotten up," I said. I was only sitting in the chair, but he didn't need to know that I had pulled an all-nighter, despite the two hours of sleep I did manage to get.

"_You sound awake to me, though it seems like you could use more sleep."_

"Tell me about it…why are you calling?"

"_I was gonna ask if you wanted to go out for breakfast, as friends, mind you."_

"You're a pain in the neck," I groaned.

"_Should I take that as a 'no'?"_

"Of _course_ it's a 'no', Jason. I don't want to see you outside work."

"_I'm touched. How 'bout some donuts at the MCU?"_

"You're going to get fat, Jason."

"_Chase criminals around like me and I'll lose as much as I'll gain."_ He chuckled on the other line, but I wasn't amused, looking as stone-faced as they come.

"Don't call me anymore," I said and hung up.

It took a few minutes to get the feeling back into my feet. Sitting in one position all night didn't help my sleep-deprived body. I stood up slowly and stretched, feeling the ache in my bones. Now that I had recovered from my terror, I was thinking rationally again and greatly regretted staying awake most of the night.

I shrugged it aside; I couldn't do anything about it now. I dressed and then headed off to work, grabbing my journal and a granola bar for breakfast.

I ate alone in my office, reading through the notes I took during the videotape the night before. My head hurt, but I tried ignoring it; I didn't want to come across anyone in the breakroom while I searched for Tylenol. I made a note to restock my supply in my desk.

Reading over the code words I had given myself through the videotape, my mind made connections between them, and I wrote another list, recording the connections that came to mind. _A beaten car, poker, Five-of-a-Kind, recruited, paralyzing fear, hanging water, hawk._ I came to Gotham City in a beaten card. I was good at playing poker, so good that I've managed pulling Five-of-a-Kind. I was recruited into the Joker's gang. I had a paralyzing fear of hanging over water…

I connected that with how I had reacted to Scarecrow's fear gas, the hanging upside down over water. Shuddering at the memory, I looked at the last word: _hawk_. Instantly, I thought of _Hawkins_.

As if being summoned by his name, Jason appeared in my doorway, rapping his knuckles against the door. "Hey there," he said.

"Go away, unless you have something important to tell me," I said. I glanced up and added, "And the only things I would consider important are instructions from the Commissioner or you telling me that you're getting married to a present girlfriend that's not me."

"No need to be bitter, McKinley," he said, sharply. I grinned regardless; he finally caught on that I didn't like him using my first name as if we were best buds. "I received word from the Commissioner that you are now on the Joker's case."

"Received word?" I repeated, confused.

"He left right after he spoke to you and Tew yesterday. He hasn't been in today either."

"And he's given you instructions to put me on the Joker case?"

He gave me a look. "You're not worried about the Commissioner. Instead, you focus on where and how I got my instructions."

"The Commissioner needs a day off, doesn't he?"

"He _never_ takes a day off, McKinley."

Worry had successfully been planted inside me, but I didn't show it. "Fine. I'll work with you."

"Great," he said, "I'll get you my reports so far."

He returned a minute later with his files. As I took them from him, I noticed he was moving his right arm rather stiffly. Nodding to it, I asked, "What did you do?"

"Is that…_genuine_ concern for my welfare?" I gave him a dark look. "I figured not, but I'll tell you anyway. I had a run-in with the Joker last night at the courthouse. We had a bit of wrestling match, and he popped my shoulder out of socket."

"And he got away obviously," I deadpanned.

He nodded. "Read up on those," he said, tapping the files on my desk. "All my reports are there."

When he left, I returned to what I was doing originally, too focused on my own memories than upon the new case. The Joker could wait, as far as I was concerned.

I made a fast connection between the words _unpredictable, alike, favorite color_, and _recruited_. During my time with the Joker, he had tried to prove how we were alike, that we were both unpredictable. We shared the same favorite color of purple. Again, a reminder that I had been recruited into his gang; whether it was willingly or unwillingly, I still couldn't tell.

The riddle I understood after a few minutes of reading it repeatedly. It was talking about Hunter, the man who wanted so desperately to kill me, yet he hadn't tried to when he had the chance last night. Reading the riddle, I realized that he wanted to kill me because he was jealous and angry. Like his file had said – given to me by courtesy of the Riddler, who most likely also gave me the riddle itself – Hunter had another personality, at least one. There was Hunter and there was Peter. As for the _brightly colored_ part, he was gay.

Repulsed, I sat back in my chair, taking a moment to breathe. It reconnected in my head. The night he had attacked me was the night that he revealed that he was in love with 'the Boss' or aka the Joker. And because I had become competition, he was trying to kill me so that he could have 'the Boss' all to himself.

"Keep telling yourself that, buddy," I muttered. "You can _have_ him."

I connected the other code words, the ones signifying the masterminds of Gotham City.

Black bird – Raven (or Dr. Young)  
Field protector – Scarecrow  
Living green – Poison Ivy  
Obese bird – The Penguin  
Flying rodent – Batman  
Furry pet – Catwoman  
Scarred laughter - …Mista J-pants

Laughter burst from me without warning, and I had to cover my own mouth, for fear that someone would have heard it. Wouldn't the Joker be _so offended_ if I didn't write his name down? That'd be funny if he even found out.

I wrote down '_psychopathic clown' _for my personal amusement.

Soon after, I gave up making the connections, feeling overloaded mentally with all the information that was returning to me because of words and small phrases. Even having taken myself away from it, the memories were flooding, drowning me under the general happenings. I sat there with my eyes closed, allowing them to drown me as I shifted through it, trying to find some connection to my emotions. It was all general, no emotion. I couldn't remember a single time when I had feelings for the Joker. At that moment, my memory was returning, filling in the large gaps, but there were still holes.

With an exasperated sigh, throwing my hands up in the arm, I stood up and went to the breakroom to retrieve Tylenol, taking Jason's files with me.

Once the painkillers kicked in, I set to work reading up on the Joker and Jason's reports. I hadn't heard anything about the Joker's activities since he had broken out of Arkham, but it appeared that he had been busy, breaking and entering, stealing, killing a few people here and there (some even his own guys), kidnapping others, horsing around for the attention of Batman…the list went on, even to childish moves like actually prank-calling Jason's home phone and giving him a 'head's up' on the next adventure.

However, there was one thing that kept cropping up amongst his crimes; the name _Shadow_ was spray-painted in bright green on the location, sometimes even with a message, such as "Come out to play".

Like _that_ wasn't creepy.

I leaned back, setting my feet upon the desk, dragging the photos of the clown's message onto my lap. I glanced at them in order, watching as his messages progressed from simply my name, to suggestions that I come out, to demanding I showed up, and then to angry threats. With a smile, I realized that he obviously thought I was ignoring him. He wasn't – hadn't – been my case until recently; he'll have my attention now.

Nash caught me dozing in my office. He rapped sharply on my desk, causing me to jerk awake, unable to breathe for a few seconds. "Sorry," he apologized, "But Jason's going around and making sure everyone's working. He's worried about the Commissioner and is sending people out to search for any idea of his location."

"Anyone try calling his wife?" I asked, rubbing my face.

"Jason has. The Commissioner never made it home last night."

I planted my feet on the ground, my hands moving to my temples, rubbing them to attempt easing the stabbing pain. "Does Jason think I'm working?" I asked.

"He assigned you to work with me in the tech room. You don't have to, but I would appreciate it."

I looked up at him wearily. It didn't bother me that he had approached me after our conversation yesterday; being too tired, I didn't care if he was a criminal or not. "Sure," I said simply after a moment.

"Meet me in there. I'm getting you some coffee and painkillers."

"I'm fine, Nash," I said, standing up.

"You're taking both of them," he insisted and left my office.

I headed into the tech room and sat down in a swivel chair, twisting myself from side to side while looking about at all the computer screens and keyboards. The room hummed with electricity, the air conditioning running in the background to cool the heating monitors.

"Have you ever been in here?" Nash asked, returning with the coffee and Tylenol he promised.

"No, but it's nice, being surrounded by all this technology," I said, popping the pills and swallowing them with some coffee.

"They're not as updated as I wish they were." He sat down in another swivel chair, sipping from his mug left by the keyboard.

"So what are we doing?" I asked.

"Monitoring the movements of the officers, keeping them in contact with one another, that sort of thing. Don't spill any of that on the computers. Gordon would kill you, if I didn't first."

"All right, I understand how attached you are to these ancient things." He gave me a hurt look, and I grinned. It was nice to tease him like old times. "Are there buttons you _don't_ want me to push?" I asked, "Like a red button that will cause either self-destruction or the end of the world?"

"Sometimes, I wish there was such a button." He shook his head. "Explore with them. I have a feeling you are brilliant with computers."

"You only say that because I was once a criminal."

"All good criminals know how to use the computer. The ones that don't are the ones who often get caught trying to access someone else's bank account."

I laughed, set aside my coffee, feeling more alert now, and set to work. With my headset on, I worked alongside Nash, monitoring the movements of the officers, relying information that was called in. I felt at ease for the first time today; the work became second nature, if it hadn't been already. Because of my easiness, it appeared evident that I had the computer skills far advanced from the basic user. I felt that I could do more things than I already was doing, but I didn't want to overload the computers, as ancient as they were. I wondered if I could program them to work better, but I instantly discarded the thought; I was being too confident in my somewhat unknown abilities.

We slaved laboriously for hours, drinking many cups of coffee between us. The work kept me from being caught up in the panic of the officers when they could find no sign of the Commissioner's whereabouts. Instead, I could reassure them that we'd find him, no matter what, which I had to do many times.

"How would you know?" one officer asked, peeved. "You haven't worked for him as long as I have."

"Officer Barr," I said calmly, "It doesn't matter how long I've worked for him. I know from experience that not giving up will eventually bring the result you want. Don't be discouraged and keep looking. I'll contact Terry for you." I switched to the other officer and relayed the message Barr wanted passed along, and then I clicked off my headset, twisting in my chair.

Nash was drinking his seventh – or it could possibly have been his twentieth, I lost track – cup of coffee, watching me. "You're good at this," he commented.

"I don't need compliments, Nash," I sighed, rubbing my temples.

"You need sleep."

"I function just fine without it."

"You might, but your temper is far worse. I'm surprised you haven't snapped at the officers yet."

"They're all a bunch of whiners," I said. "After how long we've been doing this, I wouldn't mind being out there looking for him myself."

"As would I. But our duty is to keep the troops' hopes up."

I chuckled. "They're our 'troops' now?"

"Think of them as chess pieces. The city's the chessboard. It helps to make this job a little more tolerable." I shook my head and turned back to the monitors. "You want another cup?" he asked.

"I can go for a while longer without one, but thanks." I clicked my headset back on and tuned into the officers' conversations. A moment afterward, I flinched as static buzzed in my ear, deafening me for a split second. "What was that?"

"_That would-dah be _me_," _a husky voice responded through my headset. My eyes widened instantly recognizing the voice, my heart stopping for a second as I glanced over at Nash. He had immediately taken his place again and replaced his headset. _"I'm glad I don't have to ask for you specifically because you're already on, Shah-dow."_

"How'd you get in, Joker?" Nash demanded, sounding genuinely upset.

"_Drop the act, Nigma,"_ the Joker replied. _"I hacked the connection. It's not that difficult, even with your security."_

Nash made a sharp comment, but I couldn't hear it. I remembered the fundraiser. The Joker had used Nash as a "volunteer" for a trick he meant to use to "entertain" the guests. His voice echoed from the past: "_With my _assist_-ant, I'm going to stand on _one_ finger."_ I winced as I watched the Joker stomp down on Nash's hand in my mind's eye.

"_I called for Shadow, not you, Nigma, so shut up while Mommy and Daddy talk."_ I snapped back to reality as Nash swore under his breath.

My hand reached for the tracer device, but the Joker said, _"No point-tah in tracing me yet, De-tec-tive; I'm jamming the signal but don't worry too much. All will be revealed soon enough."_ Almost as if he knew I was going for the tracing device. I heard Nash clicking away behind me, manually tracing the Joker's location. I would play my part and keep him talking.

"What do you want, Joker?" I asked.

"_I'm sick of you ignoring me,"_ he replied. _"I'm done with Hawkins."_

"It's not my fault that he was on your case, not me."

"_You were supposed tah come anyway."_

"Sorry, I wasn't told about your messages until hours ago."

He huffed irritably in my ear. _"Fine, at least I've made a move that got you off the bench and into the game."_

It clicked. "Don't tell me. You kidnapped the Commissioner."

He didn't reply right away but rather paused and then huffed again. _"I shouldn't have allowed you to remain with the GCPD for as long as I have. You think like a detective."_

"Like I was telling the Riddler earlier, I don't _want_ compliments," I snapped, frustrated. "You don't control me."

"_I have, and I will again."_

"Keep up that confidence," I told him, glancing over my shoulder at Nash. He had turned, and once he spotted me looking, he gave me the thumbs up. "If it makes you feel better, I won't be ignoring you anymore. In fact, I'll find you, and we can talk face-to-face."

"_I'm looking forward to it. But come alone, unless you want the Commissioner to suffer."_ With that, he hung up.

"Where is he?" I demanded.

"The Gotham City Museum of Antiquities." I stood abruptly and headed toward my office. Nash's footsteps followed me. "Wait, you can't go."

I continued to my desk, retrieving my Slavic from the desk drawer. "Nash, tell me truthfully. Would you, as a detective or a criminal, allow me to go?"

"As a detective, no, because you're one of Gordon's and we protect one another. As a criminal, I would also say no because I don't need you getting involved directly with the Joker."

"Then, _Nigma_," I began, causing him to narrow his eyes, "Consider this. I _know_ your true identity." I leaned over my desk and whispered, "How would you like everyone here knowing that you're the Riddler?"

He let me go, even gave me the keys to his car to drive myself there since he needed to remain in the tech room, but he insisted upon me wearing an earpiece. We made a deal; when either he loses connection or I shut the earpiece off, he was to send in the SWAT teams. With that settled, I drove myself to the museum.

Despite him being at the MCU, Nash accessed the security for me so breaking into the museum was easy. I kept alert as I progressed through more security, obeying Nash's guidance but also taking in my surroundings and tuning into my criminal side. Nash asked if I wanted him to turn off the laser lights, but I told him not to bother; I had already passed them.

Voices alerted me, and I pressed my back against the wall. Slowly, I slid toward the corner, glancing around it and spotting two figures standing close to a glass display. In the gloom, the shapes of the figures were easy to discern, one female and one male. The woman wore a jester costume, instantly connecting in my mind who she was; the man I didn't recognize.

"I can't _believe_ you," the perky Harley Quinn shrieked. "Questioning Mistah J's plan? You're _got_ to be insane."

"I've _always_ questioned his ideas," the man snapped. "It doesn't seem to _bother_ him, as I'm still _alive_." Harley huffed irritably, sounding very similar to how the Joker sounded through my headset earlier. "He's the chaotic version of an idealist; I'm his skeptic."

She placed her hands on her hips. "And what am I?"

"Harley, you're an obnoxious, high-pitched, whining blonde chick with no common sense who plays up the stereotype of blondes."

"_Really_, Bleak, _really_?" she said, insulted. I blinked, realizing that it _was_ Bleak. In the back of my mind, I heard my own voice say to me through the videotape: _Trust bleak weather._ "How dare you slander me?"

"It's good for you," Bleak said, "It builds character." He spun on his heel and walked away, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"I'm not finished with you," Harley shouted after him.

"Well, I'm done with you." He continued walking until he was out of sight. Harley growled with frustration, and since she had her back turned to me, that's when I made my move. Creeping up behind her as she shouted angrily after Bleak, I grabbed her, covered her mouth with my hand, and hit her hard with my pistol. Her legs buckled underneath her, but I caught her weight, gradually setting her on the ground, hiding her by the glass display and cuffing her to the railing around the display. At least, I didn't have to worry about her; she'd howl eventually and warn the Joker, Bleak, and the rest of them, but I hoped to be done with everything by then.

As I progressed into the museum, following where Bleak had left, the din of breaking glass echoed dimly through the empty corridors, gradually growing in volume as I drew closer. Finally, I located the Joker's gang in the left wing, in a circular room with a skylight. Columns lined the hall, their tops circling the skylight, broken glass scattered on the marble floor, the displays sat either empty or were in the process of being emptied.

I moved to a pillar and cautiously counted the number of occupants in the room. There were five total, three henchmen, Bleak, and the Joker. Furrowing my brow, I wondered why he had so few men for the job.

I checked to make sure none of his men were looking and then ducked behind the next pillar, trying to get closer to the Joker who simply stood in the center of the room, shifting his weight. His clowns focused on their jobs, smashing more cases and taking out the artifacts. By their expressions, they weren't happy about whatever the Joker had planned, probably because it was so uncharacteristic of the Clown Prince of Crime to steal pieces of history.

I thought it was _very_ uncharacteristic of him, which is why I had moved off on my own. He had been targeting me since he escaped from Arkham. He had left Harley Quinn there and was coming for me, whether to kill me or to get me back, but either way, I didn't like it and planned to take him out.

I crouched behind a glass case, hiding by its solid base, listening intensively before bolting for the next pillar. Just as I positioned myself behind it, a gunshot went off, grazing the side of my pillar. I stopped breathing as I noticed the bullet hole in the wall. A second one soon followed. Silence engulfed the circular room, and I froze, barely breathing for fear of being heard.

"Bleak, where's Harley?" the Joker's voice asked. "She's being very quiet."

"Maybe the bat took her out," Bleak replied, and the henchmen shuffled nervously.

"Ah, _no_, Bleak. Batsy comes from the sky, not the _shadows_."

I cursed silently; the Joker knew it was me and where I was. "Boys, over there," the Joker ordered. "If the little _Shadow_ is here, then the police are probably close behind. We don't want them sneaking _up_ on us, do we?" I heard the shuffle of feet as the henchmen moved to obey the Joker's order, and it sounded like they were moving out of the room. When it had gone quiet again, the Joker said, "C'mon _out_-ah, Shadow. I know you're there."

I bit my lower lip, calculating my next move. I had wanted to sneak in and get him from behind, but since he knew where I was, that was out of the question, unless I was quick. He might have moved from his position in the center of the room. I didn't know if all of his guys were out of the room; I didn't even know if one of them was trying to sneak up on me. Out of habit, I checked my ammo in my handgun, ensuring that it was intact.

Then, I took a deep breath, and holding my gun by my side, I stepped out into plain view.

The Joker grinned upon seeing me. He hadn't left his position in the room, but he wasn't alone. One masked clown stood a few yards away from him, holding a handgun at his side. I vaguely wondered if he was the one who had shot the bullet in my general direction or if it had been the Joker out of boredom.

"You're _alone_?" The Joker quirked his eyebrows, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "I thought Gordon made sure you'd be on a short _chain_."

I narrowed my eyes, hating the reminder that I was still technically living through a sentence given to me by Gotham's court system. My hand clenched as I remembered the second meaning – how I had been chained to a bar in Arkham because of my ability that I couldn't use.

The Joker took in my reaction and giggled, signaling his only henchman to leave the room. The clown hesitated and then wandered over to the doorway, remaining just outside. _Protective_, I thought, _for his boss?_

I pushed the henchman out of my mind, focusing my attention on the madman sauntering toward me. I clenched my gun, ready to raise it in case he made any sudden movement. He walked with his hunched over gait, his chin held low slightly. Out of nowhere, his switchblade appeared in his hand as he approached, grinning widely. His movement appeared vaguely familiar. "Have I ever told you you're ah-_trac_-tive?" he asked, his eyes purposely eying me up and down.

"With an attitude, yeah, you have," I said, without thinking. He halted, his eyes widening with surprise, mirroring my own. I knew it was true, based off of his reaction, but how did I _know_ that?

"You're getting better," the Joker remarked as he started toward me again.

He was getting too close for my comfort. I raised my gun and said, "Take one more step; I _dare_ you."

"I _like_ dares." He took that extra step, and then cocked his head at me, waiting for my response. I narrowed my gaze, but I didn't do anything. If he took another step though…

"My turn," he exclaimed, abruptly. "I dare you to pull the trigger."

"What?" My eyes widened, and I blinked.

"C'mon, you're not ah-_fraid_, are yah, De-_tec_-tive?" the Joker drawled, mocking me.

I glared at him. "What are you doing, Joker?" I demanded, coldly. "It isn't like you to rob a _museum_."

His eyes narrowed, irritated that I had changed the subject. He wanted to see if I would actually take him up on his dare, and didn't seem happy that I wasn't willing. "Maybe I wanted to sell these _antiques_ on the black market-tah."

I half-smiled. "You're not about money."

He shrugged and stepped forward, watching me like a hawk. I stayed my trigger finger. "I didn't care much about history anyway," he said, shrugging again. "I just enjoy _breaking_ things."

I blinked and blinked again. For some reason, my vision blurred, but everything changed with every blink. The Joker continued to walk toward me, and then I heard him say, "The last time you _saw_ him, the last thing you _remember_, was the night you studied History with him, trying to, ah, to make sure he didn't fail the class 'cause he simply didn't have any _in_-terest…In. The. _Past_."

The Joker lunged at me, shoving me up against a pillar, his arm over my throat. Grinding my teeth against the jarring in my back, I blinked to bring his face back into focus, but dark edges lined my vision, even as his white face and black eyes filled the center. There was an audible _click_, and I felt the kiss of a cold blade.

"Back. Away." The two words slid easily from my gritted teeth, my frustration backing them up.

The Joker chuckled, his laughter loud and clear to my ears. "What are you going to do?" he asked. He moved his foot and hit my pistol – that I assumed fell from my hand when he had slammed me against the pillar – knocking it across the floor behind him.

Without taking my eyes off him, I used my peripheral vision and spotted a broken glass case just out of reach. "Maybe something you know well." A glint appeared in his eyes. "_Not that_ something. More like _this _something."

It had to have been instinctive, but thank goodness it worked. Using my shadow ability, I took the Joker over to the broken case, and before he could register it, I grabbed a decent-sized piece of glass and stabbed it into his shoulder. A grunt emanated from him, and he released me, stepping away. I ran across the room, snatching up my pistol as I went. He shot at my heels, but I kept running, ducking out the circular room and down a hallway I hadn't been.

I ran through darkness, but upon blinking and a sharp pain stabbing through my head, I could suddenly see everything through a purple haze. Slowing, I sidestepped into an alcove and pressed my back into the cool wall, working to quiet my breathing. As my breathing evened out, the purple haze gradually faded, allowing the darkness to creep in and steal my vision. I muttered a curse underneath my breath, wishing I could actually _control_ my ability.

I jumped when I heard a hum in the distance. It echoed about the empty hall so I couldn't track his position. My hands gripped my gun tightly, for comfort and to prepare my nerves. I kept my breathing even, keeping it quiet so I didn't give myself away.

"Hm…what is the poor de-_tec_-tive thinking?" the Joker's voice echoed through the hall, bouncing off the columns and the walls into the alcoves. "Afraid of the dark, are we?" He giggled. "And to think you _worked_ for the dark side."

If I spoke, he would locate me in seconds. I resisted the urge to tell him to shut up as he continued. "C'mon, Mc-_Kin_-ley, come to the dark side. We have cookies!" He laughed hysterically at this, and I realized he had passed my hiding spot. I reached into my ear and turned off the earpiece; I didn't know exactly why I came, but I would distract the Joker while Nash sent in the SWAT. After taking a deep breath, I started forward, shifting my weight slowly to avoid any unwanted sound, listening to his footsteps on the marble floor.

He was ahead of me. I dogged him, holding up my pistol as I moved forward. I could hear his footsteps in the darkness, my hearing sharpening with the lack of sight. When he stopped, I followed suite.

"So why are you here, De-_tec_-tive?" he called out. "Are you here for information of the Com-_mish_-ioner's location, or are you here for _personal_ reasons?" I didn't answer, a silence falling over the hall. The Joker said no more for a few moments, and then, directly in front of me, he said, "You're didn't answer me."

I opened my mouth, but his gloved hand suddenly clamped over it. He tried taking my gun out of my hand, but I smacked his hand away. He slipped behind me and managed to wrap an arm about me, trapping my gun arm by my side.

"Stop. Struggling," he growled into my ear. "All I want to do is _talk_-kah."

I muffled into his glove, and he moved it slightly so I could speak. "_Just_ to talk?" I chuckled darkly. "Sure that's what you want."

"Hey, boss!" one of his henchmen called from the other room. "Where'd you go?"

"Follow me," he ordered. "My boys don't need to hear us."

"Fine, only if you let go."

"I don't-tah think you have a _choice_." I kicked his shin, and he laughed, releasing me. "Very well, come, De-_tec _-tive." He grabbed my wrist, snatching my gun from my hand, and then set off in a run, dragging me behind him.

He led me into a room, slamming the door shut and flicking on the lights. I blinked furiously against the brightness, my eyes watering slightly as I adjusted to it and looked about the room. It was the security room, filled with television screens showing all the rooms of the museum.

"Ah, how for-_tu_-nate," the Joker drawled. "I need all those security tapes wiped after this."

"After what?" I asked, furrowing my brow.

I looked at him as he checked over my pistol, turning it over in his hands. "Where'd you get this?" he asked, "This isn't the gun I had Bleak send you."

"It's courtesy of Xander." I purposely spoke in a pointed and mocking tone.

"And you bring _her_ up." He raised his gaze, but looked at me under his brow, tilting his head. "Forget her," he said, setting the gun on the table.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and saw the SWATs moving on the screens, entering the museum and taking down each of the Joker's men one at a time. Thankfully, the volume had been muted.

"No." The single word set him off. The next thing I knew, I was instinctively moving, dodging his angry fists flying toward my face. Able to recognize Harley's crazy fighting, I asked, "Did Harley teach you this? You _really_ shouldn't be getting fighting classes from her; she's a _psychiatrist_."

He feinted, and I fell for it in my overconfident moment. I stumbled under the hit, but he grabbed me, holding me up. Angrily, I punched him back, striking him on the jaw. He growled and shoved me, but I dug my heels into the ground and lunged at him, throwing punches in quick succession. After a few seconds, he fought back, and the two of us were attempting to hit one another, blocking or evading the other's throws before returning the favor.

He started laughing after a short time, which infuriated me. Something snapped inside me, and I howled with a renewed fury, hitting him with all I had. Out of nowhere, his gloved hands snapped down on my wrists, stopping my throws in mid-swing.

The Joker pushed me onto the chair and straddled me, grabbing my wrists again and twisting them back at my sides. I bit my lower lip to fight the pain. The Joker loomed into my face, and his tongue slid out over his scarred lips, his eyes sharp on mine.

We glared at one another, breathing laboriously from our fight. That was all I heard: _our_ breathing. In my chest, my heart pounded furiously from the action, sending an adrenaline rush throughout my body. The Joker's hold on my wrists relaxed slightly as his brown eyes dropped to my lips, his tongue sliding over his mouth.

His expression scared me. From anger, it had swiftly transformed into something a bit more…lustful. My eyes darted toward the screens, seeing that the SWATs were progressing farther into the museum. At that moment, it felt like they were making no progress at all. My eyes returned to his face, and a new spike of fear shot through me. Then, I remembered what Xander had said after the Joker's unexpected visit to my apartment.

"_The next time the Joker, or _any_ guy for that matter, has you in a situation you're not comfortable in, you manipulate them."_

I had to distract the Joker, and there was only one way to do it. I jerked my head forward, and my lips met his.

His rough scars rubbed against my cheeks as our mouths moved. Once he got caught up in the moment, his hands left my wrists, grabbing at my face instead. The movement triggered something, or someone, hidden deep inside me. I lost control to it, and without thinking of the consequences, I buried mine in his green curls.

Our tongues danced together a second later. My excitement grew, and I held onto him aggressively. His scars curled as he smiled into the kiss, sending pleasure through me.

His hands dropped from my face, sliding down my front and over to my sides. He pulled me into his chest tightly. Releasing his hair, I hugged his neck, wanting only to be closer to him. He traced wet kisses along my neck. Impatient and eager, I grabbed his head roughly and forced him close so I could press my lips to his.

We kissed passionately, hungrily. We moved aggressively against each other, shifting and entangling in one another's arms. I twisted his necktie around my hand, pulling him even closer. He moved his arms, shrugging out of his jacket as our mouths played furiously. I slid my hands down his arms as his jacket slid off, and I held his wrists.

We broke for a moment, leaning foreheads together, breathing unevenly. The Joker's eyes searched mine for a few moments, but I couldn't bring myself to meet them.

"Glad to uh…have you back," he said softly, panting.

"I'm not back," I told him in a breathless tone. Curiosity appeared in his expression, but when he heard the clicking of the handcuffs on his wrists, he snarled angrily. Then, he heard the SWATs outside the room, and with a glance at the screens, he knew for sure that I had set him up. As the SWATs banged on the door, he looked into my eyes, betrayal evident in his expression. "You shouldn't trust me," I said stoically and pushed him off me. He stood and took several steps away from me to avoid falling backward, his eyes devoid of emotion.

The door burst open, and the SWAT team barged in. They moved toward the Joker and knocked him down to the ground. Two officers made their way toward me, but I stood easily, telling them I was fine and asking if they had found Gordon. One of them replied, "Negative."

I looked over and saw the SWATs roughly yanking the Joker to his feet and leading him out of the security room. He threw a look in my direction, one that told me everything, before he disappeared into the hallway.

When I wandered outside, I heard my name, and I barely lifted my head before Jason grabbed me into a tight hug.

"Oh, Jane, I was worried," he said, his tone revealing his relief. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine," I told him, pulling away gently. Hurt crossed his expression, but he released me without my having to tell him off. I glanced over as I watched the Joker being shoved into the backseat of a police car. "We got him, Jason," I said.

"I know. How do you feel?"

"Fine." Actually, I didn't feel 'fine', but he didn't need to know that. He had his criminal mastermind, and me…I lost the sense of who I was in the process of distracting the clown.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Well, well, well, something's up. Is Shadow bending, ready to break, or is she going to fight her memories? Question for the ages. *smirk* Not really, more like just question for the chapter. I hope you all enjoy the Holidays! Read and Review!**


	27. Suspicion

Through binoculars, he watched as a SWAT leader shoved the Joker into the backseat of the cop car, slamming the door shut and tapping the roof. The driver pulled away from the museum, headed back for the MCU.

A growl emanated from the back of his throat as he lowered the binoculars. How _dare_ they take his Boss away? He replaced the binoculars, pressing them hard into his face as he spotted the Thief amongst the cops.

On the edge of the rooftop of a legal law building down the street, Hunter crouched, his cold eyes intently glaring through the binoculars at the Thief. It took a combination of the threat of so many cops around and all of his self-control to remain where he was, the anger gradually building deep inside him.

His fist clenched, and he thrust it into the cement, his mouth twitching into a grimace as blood dripped from his knuckles. An irritated, yet pained, hiss slipped through his teeth.

In an attempt to regain his composure, he thought of the last time they had come face-to-face. She could've killed him; he had barely remained a step ahead of her. When she remarkably forced back the poison and anesthetic he had injected into her, her sudden strength frightened him, but he had continued to fight her, knocking her down, handcuffing her to an arcade game and then finally hitting her in the head with a metal bat.

He closed his eyes, savoring the memory of his fight with her. The whistle of the bat. His muscles straining. Her head caving to the impact. Her skull cracking audibly. The blood. Her lifeless form falling, hitting the ground, slumping against the arcade game. The exceeding ecstasy he felt at her demise…

Yet, she hadn't gone to meet her maker. She hadn't kept her appointment with Death. So close yet so far…she had _survived!_

Oh, it _tormented_ him. To see her alive and well, after such a hit. To witness her living a relatively normal life, in style. To see her working for _them_. _And_ she had set the Boss up for capture!

A high-pitched protest echoed up from the street, and Hunter turned his head, spotting the blonde Jester protesting against the cops holding her. His brow furrowed, and he straightened. The Blonde would probably have to be the next one to get rid of, whether before or after the Thief, but as far as he was concerned, she was the _least_ of his problems.

* * *

"Officer Don, Lieutenant Hawkins!" The shouts rang throughout the MCU along with the sound of footsteps running about.

I sat alone in the breakroom, a hot cup of coffee held in my hands. It burned, but I didn't care. Although it didn't show, I shook inside, disturbed and frightened.

_Something_ had awakened inside me. Kissing the Joker had activated past actions. I had only meant to distract him, to manipulate him, but I awoke a part of me that had been buried since my close encounter with death. I knew I had been in love with the clown, but I hadn't known to what extent until after tasting it again.

Through my fear, my rational mind broke through and analyzed it, discovering there had been no love within those kisses, rather lust and instinct. There had been no connection. What was in the past _might_ have been love, I didn't know, but from what I could deduce, it wasn't so anymore.

Reaching a state of numbness, I set my untouched coffee down on the counter and left the breakroom.

The ruckus hadn't quieted down in the main area of the MCU, but in the back, the only sound was Harley Quinn shrieking and demanding to know where the Joker was.

"Mistah J!" she shrieked, pressing her face against the bars, attempting to shout loud enough for him to hear her. I entered the back and neared her cell. Hearing my footsteps but not seeing me yet, she asked, "Is he okay? If he's hurt, I'm gonna-."

"Shut up, Harley," I told her sharply as I passed, keeping my expression impassive and my eyes straight ahead.

She spat vulgar words at me when she recognized me, but I kept walking. Then, she huffed. "Mistah J's gonna get yah, De-_tec_-tive," she said, perkily, mimicking how the Joker said my title. "Once he's out, he'll get yah."

Hearing this caused me to snap. Immediately, I spun on my heel and returned to her cell, my hand shooting through the bars and closing around her throat. It surprised me how small her throat was and how easy it was to close off her supply of oxygen. Purple haze appeared in my vision as Harley grasped desperately at my hand, scratching me furiously, but I felt no pain, even as blood oozed out.

"If I hear another _word_ from your mouth," I warned quietly, my voice turning ice cold.

Laughter echoed from a cell in the next row. "Someone needs to check on one of their detectives," a familiar husky voice called.

I thrust Harley back, releasing her, and for a moment, I watched her as she coughed violently, her hand holding her throat. She glanced up, as if to glare at me, but hesitated when she saw the look in my eyes. Instead, she lowered her gaze and shuffled away from the bars, placing more distance between us.

Scoffing, I forgot about her and headed in the direction of the Joker's cell.

He sat with his legs spread on the small bench within the cell, his hands clasped and his head bowed. Seeing him, fury rushed like wildfire through my veins. I retrieved the keys and returned to his cell.

The Joker lifted his head as I entered his cell. A Glasgow smile crept its way over his scarred lips, and with his smudged makeup, he appeared gruesome. Several sections had faded enough to see bits of his actual skin underneath. "What an _honor_," the Joker said mockingly, "The one who caught me has come to visit-tah."

My mouth twitched. "How are you, Joker?"

He sighed, playing like he was exhausted and depressed. "I've been _bet_-ter. It's not nice of a certain de-_tec_-tive to hurt my doc."

"I see it as doing you a favor of shutting her annoying face up."

A macabre laugh emanated from his throat. "How are you, De-_tec_-tive?'

"Tired of your bullshit," I said angrily. "Haven't slept well for _weeks_, and you appearing in my dreams and forcing me to _think_ of you hasn't been helping."

The Joker raised a white eyebrow. "Aren't _I_ special? Surely a woman like you should be thinking of, ah, of some _handsome_ young man."

"I wasn't thinking of you like _that_," I snapped, my temper flaring before I regained my composure. The embers continued to burn. "I don't like having things dangling in my face and moved when I reach for them." After a moment, I realized I wasn't referring to tonight but rather the past.

His eyes widened, and he pulled a mock-horrified expression. "You've come to _beat_ information out of me?"

"If I have to," I deadpanned.

He narrowed his eyes and turned his head, giving me a sidelook, frowning slightly. "I don't-tah think my doctor would _allow_ that."

"The one you drove _insane_?" My tone sharpened, and I felt my anger rise, clenching my fists at my sides. Focusing a dark laugh, I said, "There's nothing much she can do."

The Joker noted this and quirked his eyebrow again. "Don't _like_ my insane doctor, huh?"

"Is that a question?" I asked, seething. When he shrugged carelessly, I snapped. I leapt forward to attack him, but he had expected it. I hardly had time to register how he got me. The next thing I knew, I was on my back, the Joker straddling me, holding my wrists by either side of my head.

"An act of self-defense?" I growled.

"I've got-ah another purpose in life," the Joker said. "Otherwise, I'd have let you _kill_ me."

"What's your _purpose_?"

"To restore your memory, Shadow."

"Don't call me that," I snapped.

"I'll call you whatever I _want_, Tiger," the Joker growled.

"Call me by my real name."

"Oh no, Shadow," he said, clicking his tongue. "That's _one_ thing I _won't_ do, particularly when you _ordered_ me to." He giggled softly as he leaned forward, bringing his mouth close to my ear. "Just wait until I get _out_-ah of here."

"Planning on getting out with your _girl_-friend?"

A growl emanated from deep inside him as he pulled away, his brown eyes focusing on my blue ones. "Do I have to _prove_ myself to you?" he demanded, quietly. "If so, I _will_."

Then, the Joker did the unwanted. He leaned in quickly and pressed his scarred lips to mine roughly.

Instantly, my anger flared, transforming into something stronger, the _thing_ inside me bursting to the surface of my conscience. The Joker released my wrists to place his hands on either side of my face. Mine moved to his shoulders, his face, and into his hair.

It didn't matter that we were in the MCU; we were overwhelmed with an unbreakable bond that trapped us together.

As he pulled away for a breath, my rationality returned, and I gasped. His mouth closed over mine again, but this time, I shoved him off. Anger replaced passion, and I threw myself at him, hitting him furiously.

Someone shouted my name, and the cell door swung open violently. A man grabbed me around the waist and tore me from the Joker, dragging me out of the cell. He shoved me against the bars of the cell across and then closed and relocked the Joker's door. I spun on him, fist clenched to hit him too, but Jason turned in time and caught my wrist.

"Get control of yourself, McKinley," he ordered sternly.

"You know you've wanted to do that to him too," I spat.

"Yes, but there's a difference. I have complete control. You've lost it." I tried to tear my hand away from him, but his grip tightened. "I know he's done something to you tonight, but you can't go and beat him for it. We don't need to give his lawyer anything he can use against us."

"He hardly needs to have a lawyer anymore," I said. "There's a continuous revolving door at Arkham. He goes in, he'll come back out."

"Doesn't mean we can't keep him in check for a few months." I glared at him. Jason lowered his voice, bringing my wrist down to my side. "If Gordon were here, he would not tolerate your behavior; he would have suspended you if not had you back in Arkham for your actions. Now, I'm more tolerant because I _know_ you can do better; I'll let it slide this time, but you behave yourself from now on."

"Fine," I said, finally managing to tear my wrist free of his grasp. I started to walk away. Behind me, the Joker commented on Jason's arm, asking him if it still hurt from the other night. Jason ignored him, instead calling after me.

"And you might want to consider talking to a psychiatrist, McKinley."

I rolled my eyes and stormed by Harley's cell. Having heard Jason's comment, she became brave enough to return to the bars. "You can talk to _me_," she said in her high-pitched voice.

I turned back and stopped at the bars. She cowered away from them; standing out of reach of my arm should I try to grab her again. "I wouldn't talk to you, even if you were the last psychiatrist in the world," I told her. "Keep your mouth shut." Then, I hid in my office.

Nash retrieved me an hour later, telling me that Jason wanted me in the observation room. He wanted me there when he interrogated the Joker for the location of the missing Commissioner. Seeing there was no good reason I could give to refuse, after Jason having seen me in the cells, I grabbed a deck of cards from my desk and followed Nash obediently.

Beyond the one-way glass, the Joker sat patiently at the metal table, facing straight ahead, but his eyes darted about the room, squinting every now and then as if he were trying to see past the glass surrounding him.

Without thinking, I headed for the door.

Jason caught my arm and jerked me back. I flashed him a dark look, but it didn't affect him. "You said I was the one who could interrogate him," he pointed out.

Remembering that I had, I looked away, glaring through the glass toward the Joker. "For some reason, I feel that he probably won't talk to you."

"I'll make him talk."

"Jason, think about it. I've read through your reports. He's been calling out for me ever since he broke out. _I'm_ the one he wants. He won't reveal Gordon's whereabouts unless _I_ question him."

"Let me try, Jane."

"No, your efforts will be just as ineffective as anyone else's."

"Fine. Give me five minutes with him, and if he still doesn't talk, _you_ can do it."

I _knew_ that the Joker wouldn't reveal anything to him – probably to some extent, Jason did too – but he was still persistent. "Five minutes," I told him, and Jason gave me a small smile before releasing my arm.

As he moved into the interrogation room, I returned to the spot that I had stood. I watched, retrieving my deck of cards from my pocket, Hindu shuffling them while Jason entered the room where the Joker waited.

I had to give the Joker credit. We've tried all types of cops to get him to talk, but he wouldn't. He was set on talking to and _for_ me, and me alone. I didn't know why I was so special, but I had the sense that the others had an idea, if they didn't know everything already.

Jason was aggressive, talking loud and angrily, slamming his hands against the table and yelling at the Joker. The Joker didn't blink, even when Jason hit the table directly in _front_ of him. The Joker could have received a gold medal for being so tightlipped. Usually, he proved to be a very talkative criminal, always taunting his interrogator into attacking him or losing their cool. Jason worked on him for the five minutes, and I even gave him another five, slightly amused by how the Joker simply sat there, unimpressed with the lieutenant's performance.

Finally, as Jason's pride started breaking, the Joker leaned forward, putting his handcuffed hands on the table. "You put on a _good_ show, Lieu-_tenant_," he said, "_But_-tah when I _say_ that there's only _one_ person I _will_ talk to, I _mean_ that there's only _one_ person I'll talk to." He stared at Jason from underneath his brow and then leaned back, having made his point.

When he returned to the observation room, Jason looked depressed and angry, and it didn't surprise me; I would have too if I had been in his position. He had really tried to make the clown talk, but the Joker didn't give.

Setting my deck down, I passed Jason, clapping his shoulder comfortingly before I made my way into the interrogation room.

"Well, about _time_," the Joker exclaimed when I appeared. "Really, De-_tec_-tive, you've _wasted_ a lot of time, throwing your, uh _minion_ at me."

"He's not my 'minion'," I said coldly. "He's my _partner_."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Hawkins?" he asked, "After what he's done to you? You _returned_ to him?"

"Not like _that_," I growled, hiding my surprise that he knew.

The Joker grinned widely, proud of _something_. He murmured something that sounded like "That's my girl."

"Maybe I _did_ waste some time, but it was worth the time to get to know you," I said.

"You know me _pret_-_ty_ _well_."

"Off the subject. I'm not going to waste my breath trying to be _nice_ to you. You've been a pain in the neck since you've escaped from Arkham."

"Wanna know _how_ I _did_ it?" he asked suddenly, excited.

"No," I replied, curtly. He looked rather disappointed, but this was _my_ territory. We'll be playing the game _my_ way, by _my_ rules. "Where is Gordon?" I asked him.

The Joker shifted as he met my cold gaze. "Why _worry_ about-tah him?" he asked, "He's a _grown_ man. He can take care of himself."

Angrily, I slammed my hands palm-down on the table, and the Joker flinched with surprise. "_I'm_ the one asking the questions, _Joker_."

"Temper, temper," the Joker commented, backing off. "Let's make ah _deal_. I answer your questions, _you_ answer _mine_." I glared at him, remaining silent. He sighed as he rolled his eyes. "_Fine_," he heaved, "What's the _ques_-tion?"

"Where are you keeping Commissioner Gordon?"

"A place where _you_ won't _find_ him _without_ me," the Joker replied.

"Hidden," I said, glaring darkly at him.

"I never _said_ 'hidden'. Just somewhere _you_ can't find him." The Joker leaned forward and gave me a look. "I'd give you _specific_ dir-_ections_ if I could."

"_If_? What do you mean 'if'?"

"Exactly what-tah I _said_. 'If'," he confirmed.

I leaned back, never losing eye contact with him. "So even _you_ don't know where he is."

"Oh, I do, I do." He shifted in his seat again as he leaned back. "_If_ you want to _find_ him, you'll have to take me ah-_long_."

"Out of the question," I snapped.

"Then it looks like you'll be losing your dear old Com-_mish_-ioner."

Standing before him, my eyes darkened, the purple haze returning as my hatred for him shot through my body, the heat rising. One, angry word came out of my mouth. "Fine."

"I can't believe you're letting the _clown_ come along," Jason said in disbelief, his eyes fixed upon the road ahead of us, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"I know what I'm doing," I told him, moving my left wrist that had a metal bracelet with a chain attached to it. During one of my sleepless nights, I built a replica of my chains from Arkham. I had retrieved it from my apartment to chain the Joker to me so that he couldn't make a break for it. He was currently sitting in the backseat of the cruiser.

"Can I open the window?" the Joker asked from the back.

"Why? So you can make a jump for it? No," Jason said firmly. I looked into the side mirror on my side and I could see the Joker slump back into the backseat, pouting slightly.

"How ah-bout the _radio_?"

"No!" Jason barked.

"Please?" the Joker asked, nicely.

Jason ignored him, frowning as he kept his eyes on the road. I rolled my eyes and reached over, flicking on the radio and tuning it. Jason glared at me, and I gave him a hard look.

"_I_ want the radio on, _Lieutenant_," I said, coldly. I tuned it to a popular station and leaned back into the seat, listening to the blood pounding in my ears rather than the music.

"Turn here!" the Joker suddenly exclaimed. Jason looked to me, and I looked at the Joker. Seeing the clown close to hyperventilating, I gave Jason a nod. He swerved, throwing me and the Joker into the side doors. I hit my head, and a scene burst in my mind.

_The Joker stood with his weight leaning against his hand on the doorframe. "Did I, ah, bother, you, dar-ling?" I tried to slam the door in his face, but his foot caught in the door. "Slamming the door in someone's face isn't, ah, very polite," he told me, shouldering in and nearly knocking me down._

"_Neither is it polite to wake someone and then barge into their room," I said, backing away from him. He giggled as he followed me, and I bumped into the bed._

"_You think you're going to, ah, to reach the gun in time, beautiful?" The Joker laughed, and then lowered his head so that his eyes peered at me from under his brow in a menacing way. "I don't think so." Then, he lunged at me, shoving me backwards onto the bed._

"Jane?" I blinked and came around, holding a hand to my head, wincing in pain as it started throbbing. "You all right?" Jason asked, anxious.

"Fine…"

"There's Tylenol in the glove compartment-."

"I said I'm _fine_," I snapped, my tone hard. Behind me, the Joker started giggling. I grabbed a handful of the chain and yanked it forward until his head came forward between the front seats. With a burst of anger, I wrapped an arm around his neck and tightly squeezed.

"Hey, Jane!" Jason slammed on the brake, bringing the car to a halt on the side of the road. He wrestled with me, ordering me to let go, until I released the Joker's neck. The Joker leaned back in the backseat, gasping but choking on his giggles of delight.

"Get out of the car," Jason ordered. I glared at him as I snapped off the metal bracelet, putting it on the gearshift, but I obeyed, kicking open the door and stepping out, slamming it closed. I waited on the sidewalk until Jason came around. When he reached me, he demanded, "What's the _matter_ with you?"

Strangely, a grin crept over my lips. "What's the matter with _you_? Trusting me not to use my ability?" Jason's eyes widened as he caught on, but I was back in the car, in the driver's seat. I slammed on the gas and sped away before he had the chance to turn around.

The Joker howled excitedly behind me.

"Quiet, clown!" I snapped. "I don't have the patience. Tell me where Gordon is!"

"I _said_ that-tah I'd give you di-_rec_-tions," he told me.

"Then lead me," I growled.

"Go on Grand Avenue," the Joker ordered.

"What? The theatre district?"

"I have a taste for theatrics," the Joker giggled. "Might-tah want to _hurry_. He doesn't have much _time_ left."

I stepped on the gas, flicking on the hidden siren switch. I kept an eye out for any cops that might have been called by Jason. If Jason ruined this chance, then Gordon was _dead_.

We arrived on the empty Grand Avenue, and I touched down on the brake. As I parked the car by the curb, I suddenly wished that I still had Jason with me. Me, an ex-criminal, a woman, against the Joker, a criminal mastermind, a man. Who was stronger, by default? _Especially_ since one was able to kidnap the other? By default, it was the Joker who was stronger. Even with the chain on him, he could easily overwhelm me.

I turned in my seat, and the Joker's eyebrows dropped over his eyes, with confusion. "As much as I'd rather leave you here, I realize I can't _do_ that since you could have explosives prepared in one of those theatres."

"_And_ you don't know which _one_ he's in," the Joker stated, raising his eyebrows high. "Not like I'd get _rid_ of you _that_ way, De-_tec_-tive." He grinned, flashing a gruesome, but strangely charming smile my way. "_If_ I wanted to kill you. No, I have _another_ idea of how to pro-_ceed_ from here."

"And what would it be?" I demanded.

"You should be more _polite_ if you want an answer, De-_tec_-tive." The Joker straightened in his seat and said, "I propose a _compromise_, and before you tell me that I'm not in the _position_, let me tell you what it is. You want Gordon. He's in one of these theatres, strapped to explosives, ones that will ex-_plode_, if not correctly disconnected. So you'll need me to bring you to the right place _and_ to discharge the explosives."

"And what do _you_ want in return?" I asked, "Your freedom from the MCU?"

The Joker lifted his handcuffed hands and jiggled the chain I had on him. "Dogs don't en-_joy_ being on a leash," he said simply. "Besides, it's too _early_ for me to return to Arkham."

I thought it over, trying to find any loopholes that he could take advantage of. "I'm surprised you aren't requesting for me to return to you," I said, honestly. He didn't say anything. I sighed and climbed out of the car, walking around to the Joker's door. Opening it, I said, "Hands."

He obediently held out his handcuffs, and I unlocked them one-by-one, telling him, "And you have to promise to keep your hands _off_ me." His expression showed his disappointment, but he nodded. I watched his fingers, just in case he decided to pull off the crossed-fingers trick.

I stepped back and allowed the Joker to climb out of the car. He rubbed his wrists, head tilted back as he scanned the dark rooftops. I shut the door behind him, and went in to grab the police radio, attaching it to my belt, placing a headset around my neck. Once I checked the ammo in my gun, I turned my attention back to the Joker who still searched the skies.

"Worried Batman's going to show up?" I asked, locking the car before storing my keys in my pocket.

"Not par-_tic_-ularly," the Joker replied, casually. "Though this would be the _first_ time that I'm hoping he _doesn't_ show up."

"Why's that?"

The Joker's head dropped, and he looked at me as his eyes narrowed. "Because I don't want him messing _this_ one up."

"What? This _plan_ of yours?" I shook my head as he glared at me. "I know, you _don't_ plan, but I think, after all the _headaches_ you've been causing, I _deserve_ to torment you in return. Now, show me where Gordon is."

The Joker grinned and then turned away, starting down the left side of the street. I followed him, a few steps behind, watching his every move, also scanning the area. I could imagine the Joker setting a trap for me, or even any other cop in case it wasn't me who brought him here.

The Joker turned, walking into a narrow alley between two theatres. I clenched my gun tightly as I followed him, eyes drawn upwards to look out for anyone who would think to drop from the rooftop. The narrowness of the alley set me on edge; even if the Joker had men set on the other end of the stretch, I could fight them off one-by-one, because that's the only way they could come at me. But if the _Joker_ decided to turn on me…though, deep down, I doubted he would.

I kept that _thing_ inside me in check. I couldn't be distracted by past feelings when I had a duty to perform; I needed to find the Commissioner and return him safely to the MCU. The past didn't matter anymore; its time is over. I was living in the present, and I couldn't – wouldn't – allow my past to re-emerge and ruin everything I've worked for.

We came out at the end into a wide area. My eyes darted about, searching for any sign of ambush, even as the Joker continued forward, without slowing his pace. He was headed for a rundown theatre that looked like it hadn't been in use for years, probably put out of business by the places in _front_ of it.

The Joker turned at the front door, hand on the handle, waiting for me to catch up. "You might want to follow my _exact_ steps, Shadow," he explained, using a caring tone that I doubted anyone else had heard him use. The _thing_ inside tried to emerge, but I fought it back and won. "Maybe put a hand on my shoulder to follow me. Wouldn't want to set the whole place into flames."

Wordlessly, I nodded, and he pulled the door open, heading into the darkness within. As soon as I came in behind him, the door closed, and I heard a _click_. "I hope you didn't _set_ it like that," I said, getting edgy.

He chuckled, amused. "Only way out is _forward_, Shadow." I couldn't see him, but I could locate him in the dark by his voice. "Wanna put a hand on my shoulder?"

The _thing_ struggled against me again. Shaking it off, I decided to simply keep him talking so I could follow his voice. "No," I said.

"Suite yourself," he said, nonchalantly. He started forward, and I followed.

After a moment, I asked, "Why did you do this?"

"Do what? Take your Com-_mish_-ioner?"

"No, set it up so you took Gordon, not me. We all know that _I'm_ the one you really want. Why didn't you simply come after me?"

"You're too _stub_-born," he replied. "You wouldn't listen to me, even if your _life_ depended on it. _Once_ you did, but…" He fell silent, and I almost lost him.

"But what?" I demanded. "I lost my memory?"

"Blame _it_, if you want. It seems you remember just fine when you're angry." I sensed he was shaking his head. "If only you _would_ listen to me, you would have stayed away from that woman."

I halted and could hear him still moving forward. I didn't even have to ask to know whom he was talking about. "You don't like her very much, huh?"

Noting that my voice was farther away from him, he stopped and must have turned. "Walk forward in a semicircle curving right, Shadow," he ordered, and then asked, "Why _would_ I like her?"

"She's your half-sister."

"I don't _care_," he spat, angrily. By then, I had caught up to him so he turned and continued forward. He didn't speak anymore, and I couldn't think of a way to continue the conversation so I finally gave in and held onto his shoulder, again beating down the _thing_ attempting to emerge from the dark depths.

He opened another door and just inside, he flicked on a light switch. Lights snapped on, and I winced, shutting my eyes against the brightness before gradually opening them and letting them adjust. We were in the auditorium, facing the stage. I spotted wiring running down toward the stage, and I followed it, finding the Commissioner tied to a chair, blindfolded and gagged. Around the room, I could hear a soft, constant humming.

The Joker grabbed my arm before I moved forward. "Disarming the explosives is a two-person job, Shadow," he said. "There's a switchboard in the third row on the left." He pointed. "I _think_ it's the sixth seat."

"You _think_?" My eyes narrowed. "That's not very comforting."

"It won't set anything _off_," he growled. "Just don't step on the wires. And push the correct buttons when I _tell_ you." Without another word, the Joker left through the door we came in.

I heard a series of muffled noises, and looked up to the stage. It was Gordon, who had evidently recognized my voice.

"It's me, Commissioner. Just hang on." I moved through the center rows and went to the third row on the left. Taking the sixth seat, I looked for the switchboard. I ran my hands over the back of the seat in front of me, my fingers slipping over a bump, and I pushed it. The covering of the seat fell off to reveal the switchboard.

I couldn't believe it. The Joker's explosives weren't ever _this_ complicated. It seemed to be more of the Riddler's job to be complex like this. Or the Joker was just creating reasons for me to work _with_ him.

"Can you _hear_ me, Shadow?" the Joker asked, his voice echoing about the auditorium.

"_Clearly_," I said loudly, looking over my shoulder to see him in the control room up on the second level.

He waved to me, but I didn't return it. "How yah feeling, Com-_mish_-ioner?" he asked, pleasantly. "Don't want to leave you out of this conversation. Oh wait, you can't _talk_. You're _gagged_." He burst into a fit of laughter.

"You're so _nice_," I said, sarcastically.

"Shut up, De-_tec_-tive, or should I call you Standing Commissioner?"

"Detective's fine."

"I like Shadow better." The Joker giggled, thinking that was amusing.

"Disarm the explosives, Joker," I growled, "Or I'll push a button and make the whole place go up."

"That's not _nice_, Shadow. Just because you could use your ability to get you and the Com-_mish_ out, doesn't mean you should rub it in my face. You'd _miss_ me, if I went up in flames." He chuckled, and then said, "Shadow, you have the switchboard up?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to activate a light sequence. There are little bulbs under each switch, and I want you to flick them the opposite direction that they are currently whenever the light underneath them flashes."

I frowned. "I _swear_ this is as complicated as one of the Riddler's tricks."

"I _stole_ this one from him," the Joker laughed.

The light sequence started, and I tuned the Joker out, pushing buttons according to the flickering bulbs. It took less than a minute. Something loud _clicked_, and then the soft humming ceased. The wires down the walkways sparked dangerously along their lengths, but died before they caught on something.

I jumped up and ran, leaping onto the stage and over to Gordon. I removed Gordon's blindfold and gag first, where he coughed violently.

"How long was that in your mouth?" I asked.

"Awhile," Gordon replied, his voice cracking. "Do you have any water?"

"In the car. Didn't think to bring it in. Besides, I needed to keep an eye on the Joker."

"Did you come alone?"

I hesitated. "Yeah…"

He gave me a hard look. "I suppose you thought that you could control the Joker if you wanted to."

"I _didn't_ think," I snapped. "It's a mistake that I'll take the blame for. I had to get rid of Jason to get the Joker to _talk_." His eyes widened, and I realized that he might be thinking something different from what I said. "I just dropped him off on the side of the road," I explained. "He's not hurt."

"I can tell that he didn't like that," Gordon said, eyes falling on the police radio attached to my belt where Jason's static voice was trying to contact me, but I switched it off.

"I know." I bent down behind him, trying to work on the tightly bound ropes. "Geez, I need a knife."

Gordon cleared his throat, and I looked up. The Joker was standing feet from the stage, twirling something in his hands. I glared at him, but he wasn't looking.

Then, he shook his head, lifted it, and then threw the knife in his hand at me. Rather than slide out of the way, I lifted my hand and mercifully caught it by its handle. "Suddenly helping _out_?" I demanded as I started cutting Gordon's bonds.

The Joker narrowed his eyes. "You're so un-_grate_-ful, Shadow."

I scoffed, mockingly. "If you want me to keep my side of the bargain, you might want to make a run for it _now_."

The Joker remained where he was. "You're staying with the cops?" he asked. Something in his tone made me look up. He sounded like a little kid, confused and hurt, like he had been hoping that I'd willingly return to him after I successfully rescued Gordon. His expression didn't show any of that, but I could tell by his tone and by his eyes that I hadn't done what he had expected, and it hurt him.

"I'm bringing Gordon back to headquarters. He can't drive after being tied up for who knows how long."

"A day," the Joker replied, answering how long. He stepped forward, placing his hands on the edge of the stage. "I don't understand, Shadow." I didn't speak, only returned my attention to freeing Gordon, but he knew I was still listening intensely. "Your memory's returned, Shadow," he growled. "You know what's been going on; it all makes _sense_ now. I just don't understand…after all that's happened, why won't you come _back_ to me?" he demanded.

I had cut free Gordon's bonds around his chest and started working on his legs. I was amazed that Gordon wasn't saying anything. What did he think of the Joker acting like this? Like a _sane_ man, who didn't seem to _care_ if the Commissioner heard the things he said, angry or not.

"Shadow, I _let_ you enjoy your time working as a detective before I came after you," he said, angrily. "I _helped_ you restore your memory, much more of it than the doctors in Arkham. Damnit, I didn't even _hurt_ you earlier."

The rope around Gordon's legs snapped, and he kicked them off as I cut free his hands and feet.

The Joker leaned over slightly onto the stage, and I felt his eyes piercing into me, burning holes into my back. "Shadow, _please_!" His knife slipped through the rest of Gordon's bonds. "What the hell did I do _wrong_?"

From my kneeled position, I replied, "Nothing." My dead tone surprised even me. I lifted my gaze, meeting his brown eyes. "It's not what _you_ did. It's what _I_ did."

His face scrunched in angry confusion. "I don't understand…" he said slowly, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"And neither do I." I took a deep breath and slowly pushed myself to my feet. "Go, Mister J," I said. "The police will track down this radio and find this location." I perked my ears when I heard the wailing sirens. "I can hear them now." I took a few steps toward him and said, "Go now if you want your freedom."

One of the entrance doors burst open, and a man dressed in uniform ran into the room. "Boss, we need to go," he shouted.

The Joker's face tightened, his eyes remaining fixed on me. I only glanced up to recognize the man was Bleak, impersonating a cop.

"Boss," Bleak yelled. "We _have_ to go."

"No," the Joker said, his brow furrowing. "Not without her."

"The cops are on their way."

"There's two of them right in _front_ of me," he snapped back.

"You should listen to him," I told him softly.

"I can't lose you again." He whispered it, but my hearing had heightened; I heard him loud and clear.

"Boss, c'mon!" Bleak called. Urgency had crept into his voice as the police sirens came as close as they could. "They're _coming_."

"Last chance," I said. The Joker's eyes never left mine as he stepped back, gradually moving back up the aisle. Bleak held the door open for him, and when he reached it, he hesitated. Impatiently, Bleak grabbed his jacket and pulled him out of the theatre. They were gone.

I received dirty looks from a majority of the cops when Gordon and I walked out to meet them. I spotted Jason and Tew side-by-side, talking in lowered voices. Even with my heightened senses, I couldn't pick up what they were saying, but I knew instinctively that whatever either of them, or both of them, said, they were the reason why I felt ostracized.

I kept myself distant, feeling a shift in my reality. Leaning against a cruiser, I endured the looks, watching Jason and Tew as they moved around talking to detectives and cops. I even caught Tew speaking to Gordon. I expected Gordon to come talk to me, which he did after talking to the outsider.

For privacy, we climbed into the cruiser and locked the doors. I was nervous about what he wanted to say to me; he had seen how the Joker acted, and no doubt that would make him suspicious of my thoughts and actions.

"Commissioner, do you regret assigning me to the Joker case?" I asked before he could begin. I wanted that verified; if I could place blame on Jason, I would. I felt vengeful.

"Yes, I ordered Jason to accept you on the Joker case. It was my last order before the Joker took me." He ran his hand through his hair. "You'll remain on the Sniper case as well, working part-time on each, and whichever needs your attention, you'll give it." He cleared his throat, as if preparing to proceed cautiously. "I'm told you received a videotape during an arrest."

"It had nothing to do with the arrester or the arrestee," I said. Then, I realized I hadn't denied it.

"I'm confiscating it regardless. Bring it in tomorrow."

He moved to climb out of the cruiser, but I placed my hand on his arm, stopping him. "Did Tew mention anything else?"

"Should he have?"

"He's suspicious that I'm a corrupt detective because we haven't made any progress on the Sniper case," I said, honestly.

"He suggested it, but I've seen you, even in there" – he jerked his head in the theatre's direction – "I trust you more than Tew, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to put down some new rules."

"Fine by me." I had no choice but to agree to his decision. He was the Police Commissioner, and I had no control over him or any of the other cops. However, setting the new rules will provide more suspicion for the cops, and it would only add to their treatment of me now after Jason talked to everyone.

I stepped out of the car along with Gordon and acted casual, keeping my face straight and devoid of emotion. However, I might have looked calm, but I had killed both Jason and Tew several times in my head, and counting.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Happy Holidays, everyone! I uploaded another chapter for the rest of this year. Yahoo! So, I'm running something by you lovely readers. Would you guys read another Fanfiction, written by me and co-written by my beta reader, with an OC, Bane, and Scarecrow? Please answer in reviews. Thanks. Happy New Year's!**


	28. Ransom

At midnight, I locked my apartment door behind me, dropping a bag of take-out on the coffee table. Tossing my jacket aside, I plopped down on the couch, turning on the TV while kicking off my shoes. I started eating, but I didn't bother watching whatever late show was on.

I hated Jason and Tew. I hated Jason for telling the whole story to the rest of the cops, and I hated Tew for telling Gordon about the videotape. I was lucky that I was allowed to keep my job, position, and cases. Tew had no right to tell Gordon about the videotape; it was mine after all. His cockiness irritated the hell out of me. And Jason, with his stupidity, had _ruined_ my reputation with the cops. Even Murphy had turned a cold shoulder to me. All I had left was Nash and Gordon.

I chuckled darkly, shoving food in my mouth. Of course I have Nash; he's a criminal just like me.

I had been trying to prove myself worthy of not being looked at suspiciously, and Jason ruined that for me. The rest of the time I had been at the MCU, working on my report, I felt the judging looks. It didn't even cheer me up that Jason received a lecture from Gordon. Gordon at least had been giving me a chance since Arkham, and according to him, I hadn't completely ruined it yet. Instead, someone _else_ ruined it.

I finished my unhealthy meal and then leaned back into the couch, glaring at the television screen without seeing the graphics. I had a chance to redeem myself, by catching the Joker and locking him away for good, and since Jason was my partner, he couldn't argue that I wasn't doing my job. I simply had to resist chatting with the Joker, even though that had been my method to get him to talk earlier.

I curled up, burying my face into a pillow and pulling a blanket taken from the couch's back. My last thought, before I drifted off into sleep, was that there would be no more friendliness between the Joker and me. I would turn him in and leave him to rot in Arkham, and if he broke out, I'd catch him again and throw him right back in.

I snapped awake, hearing a vibration on the coffee table. Grabbing the remote, I shut off the TV and snatched my cell phone as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. I checked it, finding that the screen revealed no number, and without thinking, I answered it. "Hello?"

"_I am _not_ happy with you."_

I instantly recognized the irritated husky voice on the other line. The _thing_ leapt for joy inside me, causing my heart to leap into my throat, but with difficultly, I swallowed and angrily shoved the _thing_ back. The Joker was still talking.

"_You'll run around with cops, turn down Hawkins's advances, torment that _new_ de-_tec_-tive, and play with other criminals, but you won't acknowledge my _existence_!"_

"Are you whining?" I asked, frustrated with him, frustrated with the _thing_ still struggling to take me over.

"_Me? Whining?"_ His tone turned dangerous. _"No, I'm not-tah. I am acknowledging the fact you are_ ignoring_ me."_

"You're just an angry little boy who's upset I hadn't come with you tonight."

He chuckled darkly. _"Like I said, you'll run around with the cops, but will ignore me. That's going to change,"_ he said. _"I'm coming for a visit. Well, more like I'm already there."_

I jumped to my feet, grabbing my semi-automatic pistol from my jacket.

"_Care to guess where?"_ he asked, giggling.

"Don't taunt me," I growled.

"_Is the Tiger tired? Maybe you should go back to sleep. I'll take care of everything."_

I headed for my bedroom, furious that he had broken into my apartment _again_. I kept my cell to my ear, my gun held at the ready as I checked the room, opening my closet and bathroom door, checking those too. "I'm not having you taking care of _anything_," I said, to get him to start talking, with the hope I'd hear him.

"_I'll take care of everything,"_ he promised, his voice sinister. I didn't hear him anywhere in the bedroom so I headed back into the living room. If I hadn't been out there, he would've been able to sneak up behind me. With a quick scan, I noticed the apartment doorknob turning and immediately made for it, walking silently across the carpet and tile.

The door swung open, but I stood behind it to stop it. With my shoulder, I shoved it back, nearly closing it if it hadn't been for the Joker wedging his foot between the door and its frame. He threw his shoulder back against the door, and although I had braced for it, the door knocked me back.

My phone slipped through my fingers, clattering on the entryway tile floor as I backed away, lifting my pistol, prepared to pull the trigger.

Seeing this, his scarred lips curled into a macabre grin as he snapped his phone shut. "Remember, it's _squeeze_ the trigger," he said and then rushed forward. He knocked my gun from my hand, but I had willingly given it up, instead answering with a punch to his face. I scored a hit on his jaw, but his momentum had already gained speed.

He slammed into me, throwing me to the ground. I smacked my head painfully against the tile, blackening my vision for a few seconds. Anger flaring, I growled and with a burst of strength threw his body off me, rolling away. When I climbed to my feet, he had already regained his composure, standing there menacingly in a hunch, his head low and tilted, his eyes peering at me from underneath his white brow.

"Get out of my apartment," I ordered.

He straightened to his full height and stretched, chuckling. "Is that any way to speak to your _boyfriend_?" he asked, yawning.

"I can guarantee that you are _not_ my boyfriend. The feeling has to be mutual for it to work."

"There was _plenty_ of feeling earlier tonight." He laughed, but I remained stone-faced, instead allowing my fury to burn through my eyes. "I am your boyfriend, the one you've been ignoring for other men." The Joker gave me a sidelook. "But be happy. I'm a forgiving guy."

"Hardly."

He chuckled darkly as he sauntered toward me. I stood firm, and when he stepped into my range, I punched him in the stomach. He laughed it off, wheezing slightly but swiftly recovered. Shaking it off, he strolled toward me again, but as I attempted to elbow him, he was prepared.

He dodged my move and came up within my defense, shoving me against a wall, pressing his body against mine, trapping me. I clenched my hands at my side, my gaze hardening. He cocked his head, his scarred lips still curved into an amused smile.

"What do you want?" I asked, darkly.

The Joker licked his lips, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Does this remind you of anything?" he asked, his hand sliding up my side. My hand snapped down on his wrist and bent it backward, but he didn't flinch. "Us being so close…it was a turn-on for you."

"Not me, only for you. Now, what do you want?"

"I want this." His other hand touched my side, and even as I grabbed that one too, in a flash, his mouth had mine.

The _thing_ shrieked in my mind, demanding to be released. It _wanted_ him. I couldn't have that; I jerked back, hitting my head against the wall and wincing. The Joker came in again while I was wincing, tearing his hand free from mine and grabbing the back of my neck, pulling me into him.

The passion suffocated underneath the flood of fury, but then started to blend, mixing with my hatred for the Joker. The _thing_ screamed triumphantly as my self-control began to slip. But then, the Joker pulled away.

I felt slightly lightheaded, but I struggled to grasp my self-control. "Really, what do you want?" I asked, my voice small.

"Hm, what do I want?" He lifted his eyes to the wall over my head, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "It's fairly simple, but it's not a matter of _what_ I want but _who_ I want." His eyes dropped to meet mine. "And _who_ I want, is you."

My self-control had torn, barely holding itself together. I struggled to keep my breathing even. "Why me?" I asked. "You had me before, even _replaced_ me with your psychiatrist. If you wanted me back, you didn't fight hard enough."

"I _have_ fought, long and hard," he yelled, slamming his hand flat against the wall near my head. "You," he said, quietly, "Have been resisting with all your might. It's almost like…you don't _want_ to, ah, remember your past."

"I remember it just fine. But the past is only that, the past. Now is what is important to me. Besides, the flashbacks are bad enough to handle."

The Joker's other hand met the wall, and his white-painted face loomed into my vision. "Flashbacks are the _least_ of your problems now," he promised. "If the present is important you, then I'll play off that." He licked his lips. "You'll like this turn of events. _Presently_, the lives of school children rest in your hands."

"What?" I exclaimed, my self-control snapping back. The Joker covered my mouth with his gloved hand.

"Sh-sh-sh, I'm _talk_-ing," he shushed me. I bit him, and he chuckled, ignoring it. "Like I said, I am not happy with you for ignoring me. _So_…I designed a deal that even you, my reluctant Shadow, wouldn't turn down."

I jerked my mouth free. "What did you do?" I demanded, but then he clapped his hand over my mouth again.

"I have a school bus full of the Brentwood twerps, ready to blow." My eyes darkened, the purple haze returning in my vision. The Joker snickered. "I've touched a nerve. Good. Listen carefully. Only way to save them is for you to come stay with me. For every day you are good, I'll send a kid home, safe and sound-_dah_. If you're bad and leave before all the children are sent home…" The Joker imitated an explosion with his mouth.

My eyes narrowed with the sound. He smirked and removed his hand.

"So, what do you say, De-_tec_-tive? Save the young ones or, ah, let them become the little fireworks that they are."

I opened my mouth, but he covered it again. "Ah-ta-ta-ta-_tah_, think before you speak," he giggled. "Better thought a fool than open your mouth and prove it." He gave a macabre laugh and then regained his composure.

"Think about it," he said, tapping my nose. "I'll await your decision to-_night_-tah."

Swiftly, the Joker cupped my face between his hands and gave me a wet kiss on the nose. As I pulled away in disgust, ignoring the _thing's_ silent celebration, the Joker laughed hysterically as he skipped out of my apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.

I grabbed my head and screamed with frustration. I wanted to _break_ something. Without thinking, I kicked the wall and gasped as pain shot through my foot. My rage slightly satisfied, I limped into the kitchen to retrieve an icepack. Sitting at the island with a cup of coffee, I held the ice to my foot, sipping at the hot liquid. I popped a few painkillers, mainly for my throbbing headache.

Tonight had turned from bad to worse. I could handle both Jason and Tew to some extent, but no one handled the Joker. I gripped my head, almost tearing my hair out in frustration. I drained the cup of coffee and almost went for another but instead popped open a can of soda, chugging it down.

Hyped up on caffeine and sugar, I ignored my hurt foot, pulling on an extra sock to pad it before shoving it into my shoes. In the entryway, I looked for my phone and couldn't find it. Immediately jumping to the conclusion the Joker had taken it on his merry way out the door, my fist met the wall. The force behind the punch had been enough to create a hole in the wall, which I didn't care. I would fix it later.

When the clown came tonight for my answer, oh he was going to regret taking my phone.

I needed to talk to someone, or I might end up breaking more things, whether it were pieces in my apartment or myself.

I hadn't expected Xander to be home with her being the "girlfriend" of the famous Bruce Wayne. Even if it wasn't him, she never returned home until she picked me up from work. But, when I knocked on her door, she answered, and upon taking in my expression and my general appearance, she ushered me inside.

She offered coffee, as by our routine, but I declined as I already had a cup and soda. After everything tonight, with a short half hour of sleep, my nerves felt wired, jittery. Xander made herself a cup and then settled on the couch beside me. Like a mother comforting her child, Xander took my hand and said, "Okay, talk to me."

She stroked my hand while I talked, explaining what had happened for the past two nights, informing her on my "pleasant" dealings with the three men who made it their duty to make my life a living nightmare. I left none of the details out, telling her what I felt with the Joker and what I struggled against.

"Maybe you shouldn't fight your emotions," Xander said.

"Are you _kidding_ me? I'm a detective, I think like one. If I'm not rational, I'm nothing." I buried my face in my hands. "I've worked hard since I left Arkham to be free of the suspicion, trying to prove that I no longer was a criminal and could be a rightful citizen of this city-."

"You aren't though." I lifted my gaze, glaring at her. "Someone faked all your accounts and information, setting you up in the system." _Nash_, was the first explanation that popped into my head. "You're a fake citizen."

"Well, I want to make it real."

"The Joker's not giving you a choice."

"He's ruining my reputation further with this demand of his."

"So what are you going to do?"

I rubbed my face with a hand. "He really isn't giving me a choice. I have to go. I'll do it for the kids, but that doesn't mean I'm doing it for him. I hate how he plays with my emotions."

"You've come a long way from being an Arkham patient." I shook my head furiously, hitting it against my knees. Xander stopped me and gathered me into an embrace. "You have to go, for the kids, but because of the past, you should go for you too."

"I am not doing _anything_ for the past. The past's over."

"Give him credit. He waited for you to recover your memory."

"I don't remember the emotions attached to the memories."

"Still, you should give him a chance."

I looked at her, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. "Why are you pushing me toward him, Xander? You hate him."

Xander shrugged. "Even though I hate him, there still resides some hope that he is actually human deep inside." I chuckled darkly. "Laugh all you want. I have to hope that my half-brother is normal somewhere. Who knows, it might help both of you. The fact that he insisted I stay away from you, I'd say he was being protective of you."

"Obsessive and controlling," I added. "You should have seen his messages left at the crime scenes. He's been calling me since he broke out."

"Go to him regardless," Xander said.

"So how I feel doesn't matter?" I demanded, bitterly.

"You're obviously attracted to him. It could work out."

"Or it won't."

"If that's the case, you can always come to me."

I chewed on my lower lip for a minute. "You're suggesting that I throw away everything I worked for since I left Arkham."

"Love demands for sacrifices, but it is up to you whether or not you make that sacrifice or not." She brushed a stray strand of my hair out of my face and smiled gently. "There's always a chance that the Commissioner would understand."

"He's suspicious. It doesn't matter how hard he tries to hide it; it's obvious. I have to hand a videotape that Tew told Gordon I received during an arrest of one of the Joker's men."

"Give it to me, and I'll get it to him."

"Tew would have a _field day_." Xander heaved a sigh. She sounded exasperated with me. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize unless you mean it," she said, sternly. She cupped my chin and turned my head so I had to face her. "Listen to me. You'll be fine, I promise. Anything goes wrong, you've got me to fall back on."

"You can't promise I'll be fine. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be able to leave. This is the Joker we're talking about, the obsessive son of a bitch."

"Watch it. His mother was my mother too."

"Son of a bastard, then."

"Better." Xander smiled. "Don't worry, Sara." I shuddered, my real name falling heavy on my ears. "I told you once that you were a criminal and that I wouldn't be the one to offer it back. With his demand, the Joker is offering your criminal life back. You can handle yourself, and if he's an asshat, just come to me and I'll kick his ass. Trust me."

I returned to my apartment, deciding that I needed to prepare. Taking the videotape and writing a note for Gordon, I slipped both into an envelope, taping it closed. I debated mailing it, but I feared that somehow it wouldn't make its way to the Commissioner, something I couldn't risk. I would have texted Jason, asking him to come pick it up tomorrow morning, but the Joker still had my phone.

Unable to think of anything else, I sat down on the couch and surveyed my apartment. I would miss the place, but I knew I was doing it for the benefit of the Brentwood students the Joker held ransom. I couldn't blame Xander for hoping there was some humanity in him; the _thing_ inside me insisted there was and that it wanted to be back with him.

I hated it, the need the _thing_ was shoving in my face, constantly reminding me that I needed to be by the Joker's side. I told it firmly to stand down, that _it_ wanted to be by the Joker, not me, and that neither of us _needed_ to be anywhere near him.

A dark chuckle escaped me. I was talking about the _thing_ as if it was actually me from the past. And to think, if that was it, I had liked what I had seen from the video, how she behaved, how she held herself confidently, how she spoke with authority. Now, I only wanted the confidence and the authority, but nothing else.

Silently, I hoped for the chance that I would be able to salvage my reputation, even though I knew that once the cops caught word of my going to the Joker – even for the kids' lives – that hope would suffocate and die. I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the worst. I could lose everything for those kids, but thinking of them, being held ransom and under close watch by the Joker, I realized that what I had said to Xander earlier was true.

_I_ didn't matter. The kids did. Their safety was a higher priority compared to my reputation and survival. I vowed that I would stay with the Joker for as long as it took to free those kids.

That decided, I locked up my apartment and returned to Xander's. I stretched out on the couch with a pillow and blanket, determined to receive some more rest before the Joker arrived. I had a feeling I wouldn't be allowed to sleep, and even if I was, I wouldn't be getting the quality I needed.

Xander adjusted her lens, focused on taking a steady photo of the rooftop garden. Snapping one, she crouched, zooming closer to a pansy and refocusing her lens. She steadied her camera and snapped another photo.

"If you had any sense, you wouldn't, ah, _intervene_."

She smiled as she straightened, quickly snapping a picture of the Joker's approach. "I'm not intervening. We need to talk."

"About what?" the Joker growled, clearly irritated. "That you've hidden Shadow under your wing."

"I'm not a bird, and she's sleeping on my couch. So, I'm not hiding her, and I do not have wings."

The Joker narrowed his dark eyes, chewing on his lip suspiciously. "What do you want?"

"A guarantee that you won't hurt her."

He exhaled sharply. "No guarantees _now_."

Before he could turn, Xander stepped up to him, grabbing his tie and yanking him down to eye level, her face looming into his. "Then let me _warn_ you, clown. You hurt one hair on Shadow's head, and you will regret it."

"How will I regret it?" he demanded, chuckling darkly. "You can't hurt me, and if you hurt her-."

"I wouldn't hurt her, but I know how to hurt you, _Jack_."

An immediate change overcame him. His jaw tightened, his body stiffened, and fury flashed across his face, his eyes burning. "How?" he demanded, his voice cold.

Xander's eyes narrowed. "Hurt Shadow and find out." She jerked him closer, glaring him down for a few moments, letting her threat sink in. Then, she released him, giving him silent permission to make himself scarce.

The Joker backed away, his eyes never leaving hers as he navigated through the rooftop garden. He reached the exit door and slipped through, disappearing without a word.

Xander returned her attention to taking photographs. After a few minutes, she wandered over to the low wall, looking down over the streets. Setting aside her camera, Xander slid out her sniper rifle from its hiding spot amongst the flowers and searched the street below.

An SUV waited down below. Looking through her scope, Sniper watched as the Joker and Shadow left the apartment building, headed for the vehicle. The Clown Prince of Crime's face was creased into a facial frown, throwing frustrated looks at Shadow. Shadow ignored him, silently standing beside the SUV while a henchman bound her hands behind her.

As soon as the henchman was clear, Sniper pulled the trigger.

Shadow flinched slightly as her bonds fell off her wrists. The henchmen scattered, only regrouping when the Joker's angry order brought them back. Instead, the Joker tied Shadow's hands, in front of her this time, and up on the rooftop, Sniper smiled with approval.

Another henchman – one Sniper recognized as Bleak – blindfolded Shadow, quietly speaking into her ear. When Shadow shook her head, he nodded and then ushered her into the SUV. The Joker threw a hard glare skyward, a look intended for Sniper. She responded with another shot that struck the ground at his feet. He remained still, finally spotting her, and narrowed his eyes, but after a moment, he shrugged carelessly and climbed into the vehicle.

Sniper slung her rifle over her shoulder as she watched the SUV drive out of sight. She picked up her camera and headed inside.

Shadow's apartment looked the same, everything relatively in order. Sniper spotted cards on the kitchen counter, all of them Jokers, sprawled over the whole surface. It was the only difference in the place.

Sniper picked up the package from Shadow's bed, shaking it and listening to it before she knew it was the videotape Shadow had been talking about. Leaving the package with her rifle on the coffee table, Sniper searched Shadow's apartment, collecting anything that would make it harder for her friend to salvage her reputation should the police look through the place.

While she searched, a cell phone vibrated somewhere in the living room. Sniper checked the area, locating the mobile underneath the couch cushions. Checking the screen, it read: _Jason Hawkins_.

Sniper grinned as she turned the phone over and took it apart, picking out the tracking card hidden inside. She placed it underneath one of Shadow's pillows, pocketed the mobile, collected what she had found and her rifle, and left, using her spare key to lock the apartment. Pocketing the spare key, she heaved a sigh; she would have to explain to Mrs. Wood why she would have to be prepared and expect the police to come for a visit.

As she descended the stairs to her apartment, Xander sent a worried thought out to Shadow, wishing her luck with the Joker.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Another chapter uploaded. The Joker's going to have his way, pulling a nasty move like threatening children's lives. Would you be able to say no if children's lives were at sake? Well, Shadow couldn't. Sorry, it's taking me weeks between chapters. I'm working on it. Read and Review.**


	29. Karma's A Bitch

I sensed the Joker's irritation. I couldn't see it because of my blindfold, but I heard it in his movements, foot tapping, constant shifting, heavy sighs. If I had to guess, this ride, with me, wasn't going as he had planned it, which made me smile inwardly.

Since I couldn't see anything, I focused on my surroundings through the other senses. There were five of us in the SUV, me, the Joker, the guy next to me, the driver, and the man riding shotgun who argued with the driver over the radio. I hadn't bothered to attempt remembering where we were headed; I didn't know Gotham well enough still.

Something tapped my foot, and I gave no reaction. This had been going on for the whole ride, thus far. I was past being irritated by it, and I was convinced it was the Joker, trying to get some response from me.

Finally, there was a shift, and from its location, it was the Joker.

"What do you want?" I asked, sharply.

"For you to talk."

"Well, I have."

The Joker huffed, and he moved forward until I felt the intrusion of my personal space. "I knew you were going to bite."

"I took the bait for the kids, not you."

I wished I could see his expression because he backed off, as if my retort had slapped him.

Silence fell over us again – or at least the lack of talking since the driver and co-pilot continued to fight over what station to listen to. The constant switching of the radio was getting on my nerves and hurt my already throbbing head. The Joker bursting into Xander's apartment had awoken me, but I didn't have time to grab painkillers, which left the Joker dealing with a very angry shadow.

My anger helped to keep me awake. As much as I wanted, and needed, sleep, I didn't trust any of the men I was surrounded by. I had suspicion that Bleak was the henchman sitting next to me, blocking my escape route. He didn't tie the blindfold very tight, which I was grateful for; I had enough pressure residing behind my eyes.

The SUV slowed to a rumbling halt, and the passenger's door opened. The Joker kicked my foot with an irritated, "We're here."

I ignored him, focused on the movements of his three henchmen. The driver and the co-pilot piled out first, slamming their doors shut. The Joker ordered the henchman next to me out, leaving me and him for last.

"Ladies first," the Joker said.

"They've already gotten out," I told him without skipping a beat.

The sly remark caught him by surprise, but he chuckled darkly as he recovered. "So it seems," he said, "My dear Shadow, your turn."

I fought the urge to snap at his usage of the name 'dear'; I wasn't his and never would be. The _thing_ inside me protested, but my anger shoved it down. Instead of fighting, I kept my mouth shut, and I obeyed, stepping out gingerly to ensure I had a firm footing before shifting my weight. I needn't have bothered; as an afterthought, the Joker shoved me forward.

I lost my balance and collided with a henchman, who caught me and held me until I regained my balance before releasing me. I instantly knew that it was indeed Bleak, which allowed me to turn my back to him.

"You missed a step," the Joker giggled, causing the other henchmen to chuckle along. Bleak didn't say a word, but neither did he make a move to defend me.

"I saw it coming," I told him, evenly. He stopped, possibly throwing me a menacing look. "I am blindfolded, after all. It was a good idea you didn't get out first or I'd be crashing into _you_."

"Why didn't _I_ think of that?" he said in an exasperated tone. He sighed, depressed, but I sensed a shrug. "Too late now. Maybe some other time."

"Don't count on it," I murmured.

"What was that?" By the last word, I felt his face looming close, his hot breath mingling with mine.

"None of your business, _clown_." This time, I threw all my irritation at him.

I couldn't see it so I didn't expect it. My head jerked with the force, nearly sending me to the ground, but I shifted a foot, catching myself and staying off the floor. My cheek stung painfully as I turned my head back toward where I thought the Joker was standing.

"Boy, if that's the first of many hits to come, I _definitely_ have something to hate you for, if I didn't already." I arched an eyebrow, managing it through the blindfold.

"Do not…_test_ me," he growled, menacingly.

"Give up your fantasies of scaring me," I told him, coldly. "I'm not afraid of you."

He grabbed my chin roughly. "If you had any sense, you would be."

"Hm, guess I don't."

He growled, and he shifted his weight. Then, a high-pitched voice shrieked and echoed off the walls. I wondered if his mouth had opened at the same time to create the illusion he was shrieking, but I sensed there was no such luck. Not that I would be able to see it anyway.

Scarred lips pressed against mine and were gone in a flash, but not fast enough to go undetected by the _thing_. The Joker roughly shoved me to the side, and I collided heavily with a henchman. "Get her out of sight," the Joker ordered, in a harsh whisper.

I released a quiet chuckle as the henchman gripped my shoulders and led me away at his side. "Am I your dirty little secret?" I called behind me, but the Joker made no response.

I sensed that I was with Bleak because of how he handled me and kept me by his side rather than shoving me before him or pulling me behind him. Because I knew him, I didn't give him a hard time, following his lead obediently.

Behind us, the high-pitched voice continued to shrill away. I caught most of what she said – the high-pitched tone was an obvious giveaway that it was Harley – as we left wherever we had entered the building, her voice endlessly vibrating off the walls.

"Hiya, Puddin'! I missed yah! Why didn't yah take me with yah?" There was a pause, to which the Joker must have replied. "I hate it when yah go off without me," she protested, her high-pitched voice changing in tone to annoyance.

I grinded my teeth and tried to tune her voice out. "This is what you listen to?" I asked quietly.

"I've heard worse," Bleak whispered in return. Then, through the walls, it could be heard: slapping skin and a shout. "Why, Puddin', why her, why again?" Then someone running and the pounding footsteps fading, Harley shrieking again.

"He doesn't like her much, does he?"

"He enjoys slapping her around," he replied. A split second later, we heard an angry yell and an earsplitting scream. "Oh, I thought he slapped _her_."

"Apparently not. I take it he's going to punish her for it."

"Either her or one of _us_."

My head jerked up at that, but then I dropped it in resign. "Joy…"

"Not you, I don't think."

"I appreciate the comfort," I said, sarcastically.

He stopped, bringing me to a halt too. "Don't worry too much about it," he said, his keys jingling.

"Locking me away?" I asked.

"For the time being. It'll keep you out of trouble."

The door creaked open, echoing off the walls around us, and he led me inside. He freed my hands, and I moved them to the blindfold.

"Allow me," he offered. I dropped my hands and allowed him to untie it. He reached around my head and worked at the knot, letting the blindfold slip from my head. The light hurt my eyes, but when I blinked away the tears, I realized that the lighting came from out in the hallway.

Then, I realized that Bleak was standing very close, closer than he'd ever been, standing in my personal space, but for some reason, it didn't bother me as much as it had with the Joker. I met his eyes, noticing the gentle brown orbs that appeared to be similar to the Joker's. Mentally, I told myself it wasn't possible, that Bleak's eyes were different from the Joker's because of the emotions held within them.

Unconsciously, my hand lifted and touched his face, feeling his sharp jaw, stroking his cheek, and brushing his bangs off his forehead. Realizing what I was doing, self-consciously, I dropped my hand and stepped back, only to be stabbed in the back of the leg and falling backward onto whatever had poked me. My backside struck metal, and I gasped with surprise.

Bleak lunged forward, apologizing and explaining that it was wall-mounted bunk. I bit back my irritation and pain as I ran my hand along the cold metal frame. After a moment, I stood and wandered about the room, finding the walls cold to the touch. It had a small window covered with a towel, and as I reached for it, my foot hit something solid with a dull thud.

"A small bookcase," Bleak explained.

"I can see that." I crouched and found the two shelves were empty. "Not like reading would do much with no light in here." I heard a _click_, and dim lighting illuminated the room. As I took in the room again, it clicked. "We're not in any ordinary building, are we?"

"Gotham City Prison." I straightened and turned to Bleak, my curiosity sparking. "It was the primary criminal correctional facility prior to the establishment of Blackgate Penitentiary. Once the criminals were relocated to Blackgate, they closed this place down."

"That explains the constant echoing," I muttered. Bleak turned his head sharply. "What?"

"The Joker's headed down," he explained. "I should go."

"Fine," I said simply. I turned away and took in the cell he had brought me to. After a pause, he moved, disappearing out into the hallway, the door closing behind his retreating back and stealing some of the light. I shut off the single lightbulb in the ceiling and sat down on the edge of the bunk, clasping my hands and hanging my head, allowing the darkness to be a comfort.

Bleak had been correct. Not a minute later, the door burst open, violently slamming against the wall. I didn't even bother to lift my head; I knew who it was, even before he clicked on the lightbulb.

"Your sullenness ruined my fire, Tiger," he said, his husky voice vibrating angrily.

"It's not my problem."

In a flash, he appeared before me and heaved me to my feet, his hands tightly gripping my jacket. His white face looming into mine, he demanded, "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"So many things, so _many_ things," I replied with a depressed sigh. Bringing fiery life into my eyes, I met his gaze and said, "Of course, you are one of them."

"Why me?"

"Forcing me to come with you."

"You had a choice," he argued.

"No, I _didn't_. You are playing with children's lives. You _know_ I had no choice. I'd rather suffer and die than have children get killed."

His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring as air rushed in and out. I endured his hot breath, calmly meeting his eyes, ignoring the _thing_ that waited quietly beneath the surface. We stood there silently. The Joker's hands trembled slightly from the strain of gripping my jacket so hard. After some time, I broke the silence.

"If you're trying to win me back, you're going about it the wrong way." The Joker blinked, his rage slipping. "You're doing more damage, and by now, it'd be a miracle if you get me back."

For a moment, his hard, angry surface slipped, revealing loss and fear. My eyes narrowed as I prepared to analyze those emotions, except he caught on and replaced them with heated determination. "I _will_," the Joker growled. "I get what I want."

"And what do you want? Another play toy?" His face tightened, and for a moment, emotion ceased to exist in his expression. Sensing I had struck a nerve, I asked, "What is Harley to you, Joker?"

"It's Mistah J," he spat. "And Harley is none of your business."

I arched an eyebrow. "You're looking at a trained detective of Gotham. Whether you tell me or not, I'll find out _exactly_ what Harley means to you."

"She doesn't mean _anything_," he growled.

"Hm, I'll keep that in mind. No doubt she'll _love_ to hear that one day."

"She wouldn't believe you."

"Of course, she hates me, but the fact is, women listen to one another, whether they are insane or not." A cocky smirk stretched across my lips. "Believe me, Joker. Karma's a bitch, and if I have to probe her along, I will."

"Continue with this behavior, and the kids die."

This time, I kept my mouth shut. With what he had said, I was reminded of the reason why I agreed to come with the Joker in the first place. I couldn't jeopardize the students' lives for the sake of my own amusement.

"Oh, so _now_ you don't have anything to say for yourself?" I didn't speak, and with a growl of frustration, the Joker shoved me onto the bunk and stormed from the cell, slamming the door as hard as he could.

I stood only to turn the lightbulb off again and then stretched out on the bunk, ignoring how uncomfortable it was as I placed a hand behind my head, the other on my stomach.

My observation skills had grown since I left Arkham and became a junior detective under Murphy. Already, I felt the tables turning in my favor. The Joker couldn't get his own emotions straight; I could say something and easily set him off, like a pressure bomb. A little pressure and once that pressure is removed…_boom_.

With a moment of panic, I remembered the videotape and that I hadn't figured out how to get it to Gordon yet. Hitting my head with a fist, I cursed myself, realizing I should have given it to Xander when I had the chance. I should have trusted her not to give Tew any hint that she and I were friends; if she had taken it, I _knew_ it would have found its way to Gordon. Now, I didn't know; it was still sitting on my bed, packed and sealed, ready to send, and I had _forgotten_.

I laid there in the darkness, allowing it to comfort me and to settle the thoughts swirling through my mind. My shadowing ability came to mind, but I shook my head before I could dwell on it. I didn't have a way out of this imprisonment without killing the children; I had to stay, for their sakes.

I pressed my palms into my eyes, releasing a long groan. What kind of a detective was I? I couldn't even save children, let alone myself. For a moment, I hesitated as my shadowing ability returned to my mind.

Maybe I could use it to get the children to safety.

The moment the thought came to me, I felt a release of tension in my head, something relaxed. Given the how, I needed information; where did the Joker have the children? I thought of Bleak and wondered if I could get him in on it. Surely, he didn't accept the Joker's behavior and decision to take children to draw me in. If I could get him in on it, he could distract the Joker and his men while I took the kids to safety.

Drawing upon my memory of previous times I had used my ability, I prepared mentally for the practicing session I planned for myself. I would remain in the room, in case the Joker decided to drop by unexpectedly, but I needed the practice.

The session lasted an hour due to the headaches it caused. With my lack of sleep, my concentration slipped from my grasp like water. Lying down again, I pressed my palms into my temples and moved my hands in circular motion, hoping to ease the pain. I hadn't turned on the light so I didn't know if I could shadow with it, but after that painful hour, I had the knack of using my ability again. To treat myself, and my poor mind, I closed my eyes and dropped into darkness.

I resurfaced when the door unlocked, and despite my exhaustion, I immediately sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I needn't have worried about the Joker bursting in; instead, Bleak popped his head in, checking to see if I was awake before he finally stepped inside, closing the door behind him with his foot.

He switched on the light, to which I jerked and blocked the harshness with a hand, my eyes aching painfully from the suddenness. He held a plate with two pizza slices and a glass of water. "I thought you'd be hungry," he said as he approached my cot. I moved over to one end, giving him space, and he set the food down on the metal before taking his seat at the opposite end. "Did you manage any sleep?" he asked.

I already had a mouthful of pizza in my mouth, but I looked up, seeing the concerned glint in his eyes. Covering my mouth, I finished chewing and swallowed before replying, "A bit, but not enough."

He nodded and then didn't say anything more until I had finished eating. I drained the glass, sighing with a soft moan of pleasure. Even if I was still tired, I felt refreshed after eating and having something to drink. "Thank you," I said, sitting back against the wall and bringing my legs up into my chest.

He nodded and slid the dishes close to him but didn't pick them up. I waited for him to speak, watching him, but he didn't say anything, his eyes unfocused on the ground, like he had fallen deep into thought. Every now and then, he turned his head as if listening for the approach of footsteps, like he expected the Joker to appear and chew him out. Obviously, he wasn't supposed to be down here with me.

I stretched my legs out and asked, "How are the kids?"

He lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes wide slightly like he had been ripped from his thoughts unexpectedly. He recovered and then said, "They're okay. Scared, but okay."

"The Joker will keep his word?"

Bleak chuckled darkly. "He will. The kids won't come to harm unless you do something the Joker doesn't like, which can be difficult since he's as unpredictable as the lottery."

"Which has been won many times before," I said, "So there is a way to crack him."

"Not crack him, maybe a lucky guess, but there's no guarantee that you will know what he is doing before he does it." He clasped his hands for a moment and then ran one through his dark hair. "If you want a suggestion, mine would be to do what he asks, even if you don't want to."

Something flickered across his face for a moment and then disappeared. However, it still resided in his eyes, a haunted look that I didn't quite understand. We weren't the best of friends, but at that moment, he was all I had. For all I knew, I was all he had, outside the Joker, Harley Quinn, and the other henchmen. If I had to guess, he was hiding something behind his feeling of concern for me.

Before I could ask, as if he sensed it coming, he quickly excused himself, claiming that he needed to get out of here before the Joker or someone else came to visit, and then left without another word to me.

After turning the light back off, I returned to my cot and laid on my stomach, wondering how I could get it out of him. He definitely was concerned for my well-being, but that doesn't help the fact that he is one of the Joker's henchmen. Yes, he had looked out for me when I was still a detective - scratch that, I _am_ still a detective - and he seemed bent on looking out for me here too, but mostly for the children's sakes.

I rolled onto my back again, placing an arm over my eyes. Before I fell back asleep, I vowed, to myself, to get it out of him, his true reason for risking the Joker's wrath and helping me.

* * *

**Lordlink13: She's back in the Joker's hands. What is gonna go down? I know, but do you? Read and Review!**


	30. Decision

A gunshot awoke me, tearing me from a dreamless sleep. I rapidly scanned the darkness, hoping that someone wasn't in the room, and fearfully, I stumbled toward the light, pulling the string to illuminate the cell. I was still alone, to which I sighed with relief, collapsing back on my metal cot.

Curious about the gunshot, I perked my ears, unknowingly activating my ability and heightening my senses. I couldn't tell where the gunshot had sounded, but I clearly heard a loud voice from somewhere in the prison.

"Boys, you work for me; therefore, you take orders from _me_. This is my city; we play by _my_ rules. Now, tell me where those kids are or you'll end up just like your fellow man!"

I immediately registered it as the Joker's voice, but that hardly concerned me. Instead, I focused on what he had said. _Now, tell me where those kids are..._ Could it be possible that someone had let the kids loose? If that were the case, I could leave and return home.

I checked my watch to see the time and realized that it was already evening of the next day. I had already been in the Joker's hands for almost twenty-four hours. By now, everyone back at the MCU would have been alerted, by Jason. No doubt my cell phone would have a million missed calls and unread texts from him, demanding to know where I was.

But who would have let the kids out? My first thought was Hunter, Peter Sullivan. If I remember correctly, he didn't want me anywhere near the Joker, and he might have gotten wind of the Joker's bargain with me. If he released the kids, I didn't have to stay with the Clown Prince of Crime.

Standing, I made my decision and shadowed, remembering all my practice the night before.

I missed my destination by a few blocks, but I partly expected it; I had only been getting the knack of short distances, from one side of the room to the other, so it came to me as no surprise. Instead of shadowing again, I endured the walk toward the MCU, trying to think of how I could explain the whole situation without incriminating myself.

A cop car flew around the corner, its lights flashing the menacing blue and red. My breath hitched in my throat, and I nearly choked as I ducked my head, wishing to duck out of sight. It passed without pause, and only when it vanished did I breathe again.

A wave of dizziness overcame me. Leaning against a brick building for support, I crouched and held my head in my hands, breathing through my mouth. The panic grew in my chest, but I drowned it, wincing as my head pounded inside my hands. Why would a police car driving by with its sirens on set me off?

Releasing my head, I realized why. I felt dirty after being with the Joker and his men. I was tainted with the criminal scent, and smelling it, I had become fearful toward my fellow cops. I couldn't allow that to control my life now; I had to get over it. I had to explain the situation to Gordon.

Standing, I exhaled and then started walking again in the direction of the MCU. However, I hadn't moved more than a few feet before someone came running toward me from behind and grabbed my arm.

My reflexes reacted, and I spun and landed a good punch to the man's face. He immediately released me and grunted, holding a hand to his jaw. After a moment, I recognized him. My fear of the cops transformed into hate for the man before me.

"Tew, what are you doing?" I demanded.

"Making sure it was you," he said, and then groaned as he touched his jaw, working it slowly to ensure I hadn't broken it.

"It would hurt a great deal more if it was broken, trust me."

He moved his hand and cracked his neck, his usual cool composure returning. "You're in big trouble," he said, smirking slightly.

"I'd say you are too because you couldn't keep your mouth shut about the videotape." I took a menacing step forward, and he retreated two.

"They won't listen to you."

"You sound so confident," I sneered, "Like you miraculously persuaded the detectives to convert to your side in a day."

"That's right. It _has_ been a day." A smirk stretched across his face, and I stepped forward, raising my fist slightly to hit him. "Keep your claws in," he ordered.

"Or what? You'll charge me with assault?"

"That would be the general idea, but unfortunately for you, you would be charged with more than simple assault."

My confidence wavered, and I reined in my anger, taking a moment to register what he had said. "Charged with what?"

"Don't you know? You've affiliated with criminals."

This caught me by surprise. There was no way that Gordon and the others could believe that. Unless Gordon took into consideration the way the Joker spoke to me or Jason revealed my attack on the clown and how the clown only answered to me. I narrowed my eyes. "I don't believe you."

"Try to see if it's a bluff," Tew said. "I've done you a favor in warning you. The police are out for your arrest as soon as you're spotted."

"And you're not arresting me."

"I'm a nice guy," he said, flashing a charming smile. "I'm giving you a chance because you didn't know."

"You? A nice guy? Pff." I turned my back and headed once again in the direction of the MCU.

"Remember, next time, I'm arresting you on sight," Tew called after me.

I couldn't believe it, yet I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling in my stomach. I turned down an alley, vanishing from his sight, before I shadowed.

I appeared in my apartment, and instantly, I knew that they had already been here. Using my shadow sight, I watched, stunned into silence, as the past forms of cops and detectives moved about my apartment, searching through drawers and closets, removing any evidence that they could locate. I spotted a cop leaving my bedroom with a plastic bag, and my heart jumped into my throat. My wallet was sealed inside, and I worried about them finding my IDs; it would give them the wrong idea.

When the police finally left, I realized that they hadn't found my IDs. Using my shadow sight gave me a pounding headache, but I forced myself to watch them go through again, checking to make sure I hadn't missed someone sneaking out with them. Finding nothing, I turned it off, hand gripping my head.

My entire being throbbed with agony, but I forced myself to open my eyes and to check physically myself, searching every inch of my bedroom. Again, I came up with nothing and seriously wondered what had happened to my fake IDs. With a final effort, I used my shadow sight again and looked farther than the police.

A sense of relief fell over me as I recognized Xander's form retrieving the IDs and other things that would have led to me being a criminal. I heaved a sigh when I saw her retrieve the videotape for Gordon. I trusted she would find a way to send it to him.

I shadowed out of my apartment, appearing on the rooftop of my building. The cool air eased my nerves some but didn't help with my aching head. I thought of going to the MCU, like I originally planned, but since they had found some things that appeared like evidence, including my cell phone, I decided against it. Maybe Tew was correct, and the police were now after me. All my work since being given leave from Arkham had been for nothing.

I shook my head. I had to verify it; I couldn't trust Tew. Having seen my apartment searched, I should have believed, but deep down, I didn't want to. It meant utter destruction of all that I had worked for since leaving Arkham. The last place I wanted to be was back there.

Shadowing again, I found myself outside the Gotham Bank. Men wearing masks hurried to load a plain van. A single man stood out, overseeing the others. From the curved cane to the green suit to the question mark on his green bowler hat, I knew instantly who it was.

"Na-," I stopped and corrected myself. "Riddler."

The Riddler turned and jumped slightly, surprised by my appearance. "McKinley," he said, out of habit. Then, he too realized the situation and tipped his hat slightly. "What can I do for you?"

"Answer me one question," I said. "And no riddles." He smirked. "Is it true that I'm now wanted?"

He nodded. "Tew had the whole case against you. Hawkins allowed him access to your files. I believe it was out of spite for you leaving him for the Joker."

"I didn't _leave_ him. We weren't going to get Gordon back if I hadn't dropped him off," I angrily argued.

He held up a hand. "I understood your motives, McKinley, but that doesn't change the Commissioner's decision. Whatever went down with the Joker, Gordon's convinced you were playing a double agent."

I scoffed. "Great," I said. "As soon as they catch me, I'm going straight back to Arkham." It took a moment for what I had said to hit me, and immediately, I felt the world crumbling around me. My knees buckled, and only thanks to Nash's quick movement, I didn't hit the ground.

He led me over to the van and set me against a tire. My body rebelled against me, violently shaking as my memories from the asylum flashed through my mind. "I can't go back there, Nash," I said quietly to the Riddler. "I just can't…" I raised my gaze. "Tell me there's some way to explain to Gordon what really happened."

The Riddler shook his head, his eyes filled with concern behind his eyemask. "The only thing I can offer you is a position with me."

"I'm not turning criminal!"

"By law, you already have. You might as well do what you're being accused of. Besides, as fond as I am of you, I'm not risking my true identity."

"Criminal honor and loyalty," I bitterly muttered under my breath.

"Have you thought of turning yourself in?"

I stared at him, my mouth dropping. "You're kidding me."

The Riddler shook his head. "Running brings everyone to think you're guilty."

"But running might be my only choice." I looked away, staring off into the distance but not seeing it. "I'm in the system only as Jane McKinley."

"Leaving Gotham might be another choice."

I shrugged, pushing myself to my feet. The Riddler stood with me and placed a hand on my shoulder. Had it been back at the MCU, I would have accepted his attempt to comfort, but now, it didn't. I pulled my shoulder away from his touch.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Make myself scarce," I said, and then, I shadowed.

I wandered without registering where I was going. Every cop car that passed by didn't see me as I used my shadow ability to blend into the shadows themselves. I ignored my growling stomach and throbbing head, keeping my pace as I walked through the city. I stopped across the street from my apartment building, gazing up at my windows, but I didn't enter, instead moving on without even considering stopping by Xander's apartment. Her vehicle wasn't outside so she most likely wasn't home.

It took me some time to realize when I was being followed. Too depressed to care, I continued to walk, keeping my route predictable.

The man stepped out of the shadows ahead of me, and I continued toward him, stopping before him.

"You've come to kill me?" I asked plainly, my voice dead. I noticed the knife he held in his hand and pulled my hands from my pocket, outstretching my arms to the sides. "Go ahead then," I told him. "I won't stop you."

He hesitated, watching me with the lifeless eyes of his peering into my soul, as if seeking for my true reason.

"Oh, c'mon, Peter. You wanted this, months ago, for me to die from that head wound. Rather unfortunate for both of us that I survived, especially for you."

I cocked my head slightly, watching him. From where I stood, I could see his shoulders rising and falling as he heaved, his breathing heavy. If I could infuriate him enough, maybe he'd make the move he wanted to make for so long.

"All those terrible things I've done to you. You lost your position by your boss's side; you even lost the Boss himself. Who stole those from you? Me."

"Shut up," he growled angrily, snapping his knife away. "I will kill you on my own time, not when you come to me with a death wish." He scoffed, straightening his posture. "You'll get that wish soon enough, but only when I'm ready to fulfill that wish for you."

I narrowed my eyes. His voice had altered slightly with his posture, like he sounded more confident, still angry but in more control. "So which of you am I talking to?" I asked, "Peter or Hunter."

"Neither and both," he replied, chuckling darkly. "Believe me, it doesn't matter which one of us it is. We both want you dead." He scoffed and stepped aside, waving me on. "You may go, Thief, but keep in mind that I'm always around so watch your back. If you try to leave, know I'll be right behind you."

Dropping my arms, I remained where I was, watching him. He didn't leave, staying as if to watch where I was headed. The temptation to walk by him nearly had my feet moving forward, but instead, I gave him a glare and turned on my heel, heading back the way I came. The urge to look behind me pulled at me, but I resisted, waiting until I had reached the corner. When I looked back, he had already vanished.

When the decision hit me, I stood on one of many paths through Hyde Park. Dark and empty, the park held an eerie feeling. I couldn't shake the feeling that this had been a place of memories. Beyond my present memories, the past resided her, and I felt uneasy.

I found a cell phone abandoned on the children's playground. The idea cropped up inside my head, and although I didn't entirely know what number I was calling, my fingers moved, dialing from muscle memory.

"_Who is this?"_

"Me, Dean."

"_Shadow?"_ He sounded surprised. _"How did you-?"_

"I can't explain it," I said, cutting him off.

I sensed acceptance from him. _"Where are you? The Joker's furious."_

"He'll probably become more so. I need you to pass him a message."

"_Go on."_

"I want him to meet me at Hyde Park, alone."

"_As if he'll _not_ come alone_," he said, sarcastically. _"What for?"_

"That's between him and me."

"_All right, keep your secret."_ He sounded slightly irritated. _"When?"_

"Whenever he can get here, just as long as he doesn't keep me waiting all night." I ended the call before he asked for more. I didn't need Dean pressuring me out of my decision.

I climbed the playground and sat on the highest platform, out of sight of any bystander. My anxiety activated my shadow ability, and I became surrounded by the shadows of children, replaying what the original children had done hours ago, running on the platforms, disappearing down slides, and squealing with joy.

Hugging my legs, I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead into my knees. I listened to the past shadows, ignoring my aching head. Everything – my job, my new life – went spiraling downhill because of children. The Joker had cunningly placed suspicion in those I worked for, whether he had done it on purpose or spontaneously. He used the children to tap into a side of me I can't deny: my protective side toward the innocent. It didn't matter that the children were let go; the damage had been done.

Listening to the children's shadows now struck something inside me. I clapped my hands over my ears to block them out, but rather than muffle the squeals, it heightened them. A group of shadows stood on my platform, squeezing as many as they could.

I felt them, the shadows compressing me into a protective barrier. The pressure made it difficult to breathe. My chest felt as though someone was placing stone after stone on it, the weight crushing my lungs. The shadows grew louder until they screamed into my ears.

I snapped open my eyes and saw past the children's shadows, spotting Peter. His mouth curved into a cruel, taunting smile, yet no emotion brought his eyes to life. I blinked, and he stood over me, holding the metal bat. He pulled it back and then swung, his muscles bulging.

I felt the bat connect, and abruptly, the shadows were gone and it was silent.

I took a shuddering breath, my lungs aching as though I had held my breath too long. Sweat dripped from my forehead, which I wiped out of my eyes with my sleeve. My head throbbed, and I held it with a hand, drawing it away to check. I was afraid that the shadow Peter had managed to actually hurt me, but my hand was normal, no blood.

"I don't have all _night_-tah."

My heart skipped a beat out of fear. Deep inside, the _thing_ purred at the sound of his voice. Taking a steadying breath, I replied, "Neither do I." I heard the bark mulch crunch underneath his shoes, and I pictured him looking around, trying to locate my position.

"I'm offended," he said, "That you called Bleak and not me."

"If memory serves me correctly, you don't really carry a phone on your person." I didn't want to move yet, still trying to remove the shadow vision from my mind.

He chuckled. "Memory serves you well. Now, come out and show yourself."

His amusement wouldn't last long, I knew, but even though it would have been in my best interest to obey, I had developed a liking for pushing buttons. After all, he screwed with mine first. Time for a little payback.

"Nah, you've seen me before. You can use your imagination and pretend you're talking directly to me."

He growled, and he moved, almost pinpointing my position. "Don't test me, Tiger." In spite of his irritation, I smiled. "Don't make me say it again."

"Who died and appointed you my boss?" I asked, genuinely. "Last time I checked, I only agreed to stick around for the sake of the children."

"In doing so, you agreed to work for me."

I tapped my forehead, enjoying myself. "Those words were never said in the bargain, which of course has been nullified because you've lost your bargaining chip."

"Who told you?" His anger amused me. If I hadn't known the reasons why I had jumped over the edge, I would've been worried about my sanity.

"You did," I said, plainly. "Woke me up from a dead sleep, yelling at your henchmen." He muttered a curse. "With no children held hostage, I'm free to go, which I evidently take advantage of." I tilted my head back. "The night sky is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Shadow," the Joker growled, "Get down from there."

"Spotted," I said, "But where exactly?"

"Enough games."

"I thought you liked games."

"You've been around Nigma too long."

I laughed, loud and clear. "Hm, he _has_ rubbed off on me, hasn't he? He was lots of fun."

The Joker growled, almost sounding like a real dog. Grinning, I climbed to my feet and turned, facing him. He hadn't been looking in my direction, but having caught movement, he turned his head and spotted me. Even from a distance, I sensed the livid energy bursting from his lean form.

I leaned over and rested my arms on the protective barrier. "Jealous, are we?" I teased, lightly. "Must really suck to be you."

"Shadow," he growled. "I'm warning you."

"Do I look like I _care_?" I asked. My tone sharpened as my amusement evaporated. "Really, Joker, _look at me_." His eyes narrowed. I chuckled darkly to myself. "Are you still missing me now?" I asked, running my finger over the barrier's edge. "Don't know why you'd still want me as I am now. Look what _you_ allowed to happen."

"What I-?" He scoffed. "No, _you_ chose it."

"I chose to take the chance with Gordon, so I could prove that I was no longer a criminal. _You_ ruined my reputation." My rage burst from me, overwhelming the _thing_ and causing my body to tremble from the strain.

"You don't belong in that world," he insisted.

"No, _you_ don't belong in the world of law and order. I, on the other hand, had the chance, and _you_ ruined it." I bowed my head, my eyes watering as my anger burned inside me. "You ruined the one thing I had going for me, and because of that, I thought of leaving." I heard him step forward but hesitate to take another. "There's one thing holding me here, and I don't like loose ends."

I raised my head, my eyes dry. "So, I have a proposition for you. I'll join your gang, _officially_, under one condition." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I make my own decisions. You are not my boss unless I allow you to be."

"As if that wasn't the condition before," the Joker growled, "But fine. However, I have a condition of my own." His hand slipped into his jacket pocket. "You'll have to come down here so I can tell you."

"I don't trust you."

"You don't ever have to, but you need to come down here."

I scoffed. "How do you expect me to come down if I don't trust you?"

He held up what looked like a collar. "I only want you to wear this."

"No," I said.

"Wear it or I refuse to take you in off the streets, since that is basically why you're turning yourself over to me."

He was partly correct, but I wasn't going to tell him so. With an exasperated sigh, I climbed down from the highest platform and dropped lightly on my feet. He chewed the inside of his cheek as I approached. I stood directly before him, giving him a look, daring him to try anything. As he wrapped the collar around my neck, my anger cut off the _thing_, keeping it in line as the Joker purposely brushed my jaw. Perhaps he hoped to get a reaction from me, but all he received was a steeled gaze with an unemotional façade.

His scarred mouth curved into a frown – as close as it can be – and his eyes grew cold. He reached into his pocket again, and I reached for his wrist, believing it was his switchblade. He moved his hand faster, and something clicked against the collar.

Thinking to protect myself, I shadowed. The moment I appeared, my body dropped to the ground. Electricity crackled and shot through me, causing me to convulse violently on the high platform. My limbs and head cracked against the platform's barriers, keeping me from falling off, but it didn't stop the pain shocking through my very being.

I couldn't tell how long it went on, but it felt like eternity. I couldn't cry out. My body was out of my control, twitching against my will. The agony was so great; it took the breath out of me. I couldn't even tell when it had stopped; my body was in too much pain and shock. When I registered the electricity had stopped flowing, I lay panting on the platform, my limbs still twitching. My eyes focused on the night sky overhead, but abruptly, the Joker's white face and black eyes filled my vision.

"I can't have you _shadowing_ away from me," he said. "I'll agree to not controlling you, but I'll have the control of your ability, _McKinley_. _That_," he said, nodding his head, "Is my condition."

I glared at him but didn't say anything. He searched my jacket pockets, and I tried to stop him but my limbs were still not listening to me. He located the abandoned phone and flipped it open. He pressed a button and then brought it to his ear, eyeing me. "Naughty Shadow, you stole this," he said, clicking his tongue.

"Finders…keepers," I managed to say as my throat fought me.

He raised his dark eyebrows with amusement and then told the person on the other line to get the car ready. So he _hadn't_ come alone. Because I couldn't walk, or move at all, the Joker slipped his arms underneath my legs and my shoulders, easily picking me off the platform. With ease, he jumped from one platform to the other and then landed heavily on the ground before setting off across the park.

I refused to look at him, watching the direction we were headed. I spotted the SUV that the Joker had used before to retrieve me, and the side door slid open, revealing Dean. His face hid his emotion as the Joker handed me over, and he placed me on the backseat, stretching me out on it. He sat on the seat across from me and held me in place as the driver pulled away from the park.

The Joker sat in the passenger seat, refusing to speak and flicking open and closed his switchblade. I glared at him for a bit, but upon discovering he wasn't going to look at me, I focused my attention to trying to regain control over my limbs. Dean watched me, hiding his want to help me very well, but I didn't need his help.

The Joker was pushing the wrong buttons of mine. I was losing it, but I had agreed to return to him. He might think that the one thing holding me in Gotham was him, but he was mistaken. He could believe it was him all he wanted; it never was and never will be.

As I told him before, I hated leaving loose ends, and I wasn't leaving until I tied them off.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Someone asked how often I updated. Um, the answer is: I don't know. Whenever I have a chapter to update really. I once managed to keep it up, updating once a week, but now with everything else I'm doing, it's turned into once a month, if at all. So, don't check every single day. Only way that would happen is if I had the rest of the chapters finished. And if that ever happens, I'll let you all know in advance. Anyway, Read and Review.**


	31. Crossing the Line

I couldn't escape in time. The Joker pressed his body against mine, grabbing my face with his hands as his lips connected with mine, hard enough to cause bruising. My hands were still free, and I struck him, several times as I tried to free my head from his grasp. When he laughed, pulling away, I shoved him hard in the chest, tearing him away from me.

"Don't _do_ that," I growled, angrily as he giggled, amused.

"You don't _like_ it?" he asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

I gave him a cold glare. "I'm sure your _girlfriend_ wouldn't appreciate you _cheating_ on her."

The Joker shrugged, carelessly. "_Tech_-nically, I'm cheating _with_ her. At the moment, I'm a _player_." He laughed as he sauntered toward me again, but I ducked away, diving out of the way, trying my best to avoid him. "My _first_ girlfriend doesn't _realize_ it yet."

I continued to avoid him as I said, "Don't even _try_ claiming me as your girlfriend." He lunged forward, but I jumped to the side, lifting my knee and hitting him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over, and I went around him, leaped onto his back, and under my sudden weight, he dropped on the ground. I straddled him, and kept a hand on the back of his head, shoving his face into the floor.

Leaning close to his ear, I said, "I don't know _what_ you're playing at, but I've had enough."

Like a snake, he twisted underneath me and grabbed my arm, ripping it away from his head, and with another twist and body jerk, he held me down on the ground. "You're being very _naughty_, Shadow," he said, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "I'll forgive you your bad behavior if you give me a kiss."

"I'd rather kiss a boa constrictor," I spat. He twisted my arm behind my back, and I winced, grinding my teeth. "Go ahead and break my arm. I _dare_ you. It's not like it's new for you. We can all hear you beating up Harley like she's your personal punching bag."

"I think, ah, you need some _time_ to think over what you just said, Tiger." The Joker climbed to his feet and then jerked me to my own. He placed his chin between my neck and shoulder, breathing into my ear. "I'll give you one more chance. One kiss and I'll forgive-."

"I'm not retracting my previous answer."

"Very well." He nipped my ear and then shoved me toward the wall. Expecting it, I lifted my arms and struck the cold cement with my forearms. Ignoring the pain, I spun toward him, and he already stood in the doorway, a hand resting on the metal bars of the prison door. "Behave yourself when the boys come," the Joker ordered sternly and then shut the door loudly. If it had been the first time he had done that, I would have flinched from the loud _clang_ of the metal, but I was used to it, glaring at him with all my hatred. He scoffed, locked the door, and then disappeared.

I kicked the wall in frustration and then sat down on the metal bunk that had been mine since day one. The past two weeks had passed slowly, consisting of sleeping and being nagged by the clown. Whenever the Joker grew sick of my refusal to obey him, he stuck me inside the cell and left me for hours, sometimes without food. The only things I ate were those delivered by Dean, who did it at his own risk. If it weren't for him, I would die of starvation until the Joker found out and he probably would force feed me.

The boys the Joker mentioned arrived to transport me to another room. It was another solitary room. I routinely remained there as well; whenever the Joker went out with his boys, he locked me up in the solitary room so that I couldn't escape while he was gone. It _tortured_ me; by refusing to accompany him during his crimes, I hoped to have the free time to deal with the loose end, but no, he somehow sensed what I wanted and took my liberty away.

I gave the boys no trouble, instead heading straight for the bed in the room and sitting down without a word. One man catcalled me, but with one cold glare, he and his buddies left me in peace.

I didn't know the Joker's motive for keeping me around if I only angered him, but I did know very well that whenever he was through with me, he ran to Harley and beat her senseless. That, or his other option that I know he wanted from me. I didn't care if I had past feelings for him; I hadn't felt any movement from the _thing_ inside me since I returned to the Joker.

My waking moments consisted of me living in constant anger, fueled by the Joker's noticeable advances. My waking thoughts held much pain for the Joker, if I ever received the actual chance.

Normally, I slept for most of the time the Joker and his men were gone, and I awoke when they returned. However, tonight wasn't the case. I remained awake and alert, too infuriated by the current incident with the clown to sleep. I couldn't understand why I would fall in love with a man who treated me like a toy, like a _trophy_. Maybe Harley was fine with it, but I certainly wasn't.

Had I been an idiot like Harley is now? Is that how the Joker managed to cause me to fall in love with him? Maybe I owed Peter for causing me to lose my memory. I immediately discarded the thought. I didn't owe that _bastard_ anything; if he had done it right, I wouldn't be such a self-loathing, angry person.

Inhaling sharply, I closed my eyes, trying to expel the rage, but I couldn't. The present angered me too much so I turned my mind to the memories that have returned to me, mainly my past before I arrived in Gotham.

Passing the time was painful, but as usual, I managed it by entertaining myself with various ideas of how to escape from my other cell or imagining hurting the Joker. The man was crazy; he laughed every time someone hurt him, giggling the pain away like a psycho. I couldn't understand what my past attraction had been to him, but I had already decided that I would not fall for him again. If he treated me anything similar to how he treats Harley now, I will never return to him.

The Joker's loud shout announced his arrival, and I heard my name out of the long stream of words. I stood, prepared to see him, but his men were the first to reach my cell. As they led me out, I spotted the Joker skipping down the hall toward me.

His Glasgow smile reached from ear to ear, and he giggled, unable to contain himself. "Ah, Shadow, you missed the fun," he said. "How was it all _alone_?"

I shrugged. "Better than dealing with your constant old woman nagging."

The two guys at my sides smirked, but as the Joker threw them dark glares, they immediately silenced. The clown approached me, his head held low. Stepping into my personal bubble, he loomed into my vision. I resisted the temptation to move my head back, instead steeling my gaze against his.

"You should come when Daddy calls you," he said in a low growl.

"You're neither my father nor my boss," I told him.

I felt the heat radiating off him. In a flash, the Joker grabbed the front of my jacket and lifted me off the ground, his eyes burning into mine. "C'mon, Shadow, you weren't like this _before_!" he growled.

"Sorry to disappoint," I said, with a careless shrug. "You can't expect me to remember everything and return to my old self just like _that_." I snapped my fingers to express the last word.

He heaved a deep sigh. "I feel like I'm dragging an unwilling _child_ around."

"That's _perfect_!" I exclaimed with mock excitement. "Harley's the mommy, you're the daddy, and I'm the misbehaving child!"

"Don't. Even," he growled threateningly.

"I'm _sor-rie_. Did I hit a _nerve_?" He slammed me down on the ground, the impact jarring up my legs. A grimace flashed across my face from the pain in my feet. "Obviously, it was one of those _touchy_ nerves," I said.

His hand grabbed the back of my neck, startling me. He moved fast enough that I couldn't catch it. His face loomed into mine. My vision blurred slightly from the closeness.

"Speaking of _touchy_," I growled.

His scarred smile curved. "Oh, _believe_ me," he breathed, "There's more to come."

"Don't. You. Dare."

He ignored me. One moment my feet were on the ground, the next moment I was swept up into his arms, and he was running down the hallway. I struggled, but for a lean man, he was very strong, crushing me into staying still. The _thing_ inside me growled against the pressure, fighting to get out, but I used my outward battle against it, my failed struggles adding fuel to the fire.

A long stream of profanities escaped my mouth, but the Joker merely chuckled, running through the old prison, his attention focused on where he was going. He located a room that appeared to be an old breakroom for the prison guards. He stood in the doorway for a few moments and then abruptly skipped over to the couch. I protested when he dropped me onto it, remembering the past experience when he had broken into my apartment, and I climbed off.

The Joker, after closing and locking the door, charged toward me, grabbing me and throwing me back down on the couch, climbing on top, trapping me between his legs. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. "I told you, there's more to come, Shah-_dow_."

I shoved him, pushing against his chest, but he snatched my wrists with his free hand. "Let me go," I told him, my eyes narrowed.

"Not until I'm _done_ with you." He took my wrists, pressing them into the cushions, and leaned in. I snapped at him, and he drew away so I missed him. "You want to include biting?" he asked. He licked his lips. "I'm up for that."

"No," I growled as he leaned in again, pressing his mouth against my neck. His hands held mine down on the cushions, and his legs trapped mine. His mouth trailed my neck, kissing along my jaw, and finally finding my lips.

Remembering the experience in the museum surveillance room, I renewed my efforts, turning my face away from his. He growled but unwillingly returned to attacking my neck.

My hands gripped the couch cushions tightly, my knuckles aching with the strain. My body tightened against the Joker's, and he obviously felt it. He giggled softly but continued to trace kisses up my neck and behind my ear.

The _thing_ was screaming for him. I shut my eyes tightly, resisting the involuntary urge, resisting _him_. He somehow sensed the struggle and renewed his efforts, this time biting me a few times and pressed himself into me. His lust was infectious; my body ached with the resistance. How easy it would be to simply give in…but I held too much self-respect to allow him to have his way.

"I'm. _Warning_. You. Joker," I panted through clenched teeth. "Stop."

"I appreciate the warning, but I _enjoy_ danger," the Joker replied, his voice vibrating into my throat. "Besides…I know how much you, uh _like_ it." He chuckled softly, withdrawing and licking his scarred lips. "C'mon, Shadow. Stop holding yourself back. You know what you _want_-ah."

"You devil," I spat without thinking.

"_There's_ a new one." The Joker leaned forward until our lips brushed lightly. "Dance with the devil, Shadow…"

He kissed me, his lust overflowing. My willpower almost snapped. My boiling anger saved me from falling underneath the spell being cast upon me, stirring my past emotions toward him.

Finally, as I felt his tongue pressing against my lips, begging entrance, my control snapped. My body tensed with a surge of strength as my shadow ability activated.

With a savage growl, I shoved him off me, throwing him down on the ground. The Joker grunted with surprise and tried to get up, but I threw myself on him, holding him down, straddling him and trapping him in the similar position that he had me. Snatching one of his knives from his jacket, I flicked it open and pressed it against his throat.

"I've had enough with your advances, Joker," I growled, my voice deeper with the strain of hatred. "I don't _like_ people just _waltzing_ into my personal _bubble_ or _shoving their tongue down my throat_."

His dark eyes narrowed. "You didn't have a problem before," he pointed out. He fell silent as I applied pressure.

"What does it matter about the past?" I demanded. "I've explained this to you before. Returned memories don't mean returned _feelings_." I chucked his knife across the room and stood. Without another look at him, I shadowed.

I forgot about the collar. As the electricity flowed, the air was knocked out of me, and I collapsed on the ground. When it finally passed, I leaned back against a skylight, discovering I had shadowed onto a roof. It was unfamiliar, but abruptly, that detail didn't matter.

Burying my face in my hands, my emotions slipped from my hold, tears escaping from my eyes. My chest hurt, but I curled my legs in, hugging my knees. I tried to be as small as I could, trying to block out the world and pretend I was nothing but a speck.

I don't know how long I sat there, my tears long since gone. I had acknowledged that I must have been on a skyscraper with such a high view of Gotham, and by checking names on other buildings close by, I deduced a while ago that I must have shadowed to Wayne Enterprises. Maybe I had thought it was the only place that the Joker wouldn't go looking for me, maybe it was just the distance that allowed me to finally release the sobbing monster that had been growing underneath all my anger.

Finally, alone and free of that beast, my thoughts were silent at last, my worries gone for the time being. I remained where I was, my eyes scanning the city view and acknowledging its beauty in the night.

"Broke free from the Joker, McKinley?" asked a gruff voice, breaking the calming silence.

I closed my eyes as frustration instantly emerged in my chest from the interruption. "The name's Shadow, Batman," I retorted, rubbing my arm over my eyes. "I'm labeled as a criminal now so you might as well acknowledge that and use my proper name." I heard him take a few steps, and I narrowed my eyes. "And _what_ makes you think I broke free from him?"

"There has been no sight of you since you returned to him," Batman replied. "I assumed you were kidnapped."

"Yay," I said sarcastically, "A fan who believes that I might actually still be a detective at heart. Maybe you should just listen to Tew's accusations. Apparently, he has enough evidence to put me away."

Batman remained silent for a moment. "You've escaped the Joker now."

"If you're hoping that I'd be able to tell you where he kept me, I can't tell you," I lied casually, rubbing my temples as a headache emerged. "Was that why you wanted to find me here?"

"I found you because you appeared out of nowhere."

I hesitated. "You were here the whole time?"

"Not here, but close enough to still hear you."

"I'm guessing with your equipment." I sighed, burying my face in my hands again, feeling ashamed that he had heard me sobbing. Sensing his presence, I glanced up and saw him crouched on the low wall, watching me closely.

"If you got this far from him, why don't you leave him completely?" Batman asked.

"Are you really asking that question?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn't reply, and I heaved another sigh, turning my head toward the view. "I can't…"

"You're not like Harley Quinn," he replied in his gruff voice.

"That's the difference between me and her. She's obsessed with the Joker, endures him doing whatever he wants to her; I'm…" I bit my lower lip, wishing I didn't have to think about how I felt.

"In love?"

I turned my head, glaring at him, Gotham's silent guardian, the one who was wanted for Harvey Dent's death and five others. For a moment, I almost believed that we were the same, two guardians of Gotham City who were wrongly accused; when I had read his files, I always held the belief that he was taking the fall for someone. Finally, I answered, "You wouldn't understand."

"What it's like being in love? I do, McKinley."

"It's _Shadow_, Wayne." He stiffened, and I chuckled humorlessly, turning my attention back to the city below me. "You've forgotten that I worked with Nash, with the Riddler. He found out who you were. If he knows, I know."

"Do you work for him now?"

"I never worked _for_ any of the criminal masterminds here. _Never_."

"Not even the Joker?"

"I was his partner-in-crime, a position he wants me to reclaim. Harley's standing in my way, but I don't care," I said, bitterly. "She can stay there, for all I care."

"Your tone says otherwise."

I scoffed. Did he seriously think I was still _in love_ with the Joker? Maybe the _thing_ was, but I definitely wasn't. The past Shadow was gone. Rather than let him know, I shrugged, carelessly. "I guess it doesn't matter. I can't escape from him; he'd find me, no matter what."

There was no reply to that, which I was thankful for. I heaved a quiet sigh, wishing I didn't feel so lonely. A shift behind me alerted me to the silent guardian's movements. I glanced over my shoulder to see him starting toward the opposite edge of the tower.

"What? You're not going to arrest me?" I demanded, out of curiosity as I stood up.

He halted and turned his head. "Would you come quietly?"

"Of course not. I have a certain _dislike_ for being behind bars. To avoid going back to Arkham, I'd struggle with all I had."

"Then there's no point. I have other criminals to watch, particularly the Joker. If you're out here, how do I know if you're not setting me up?"

"You're not worried about a setup," I said. "You're worried that if I'm out, and the Joker actually _does_ mind me being out on my own, you think he'll make a move to draw me back in. If so, why don't you just remain where I am?" I sat down again, leaning back against the short wall. "I can guarantee you, this one night, the Joker won't be causing any trouble. He'd be too busy trying to figure out where I went, and all his efforts will go into finding me. No worries about him tonight."

"How are you so sure that he won't do something?" Batman asked.

"I know him _very_ well. He'll be more focused on me, on getting me back. And I don't plan on going back to him anytime soon. If I returned now, I'd either succumb to his influence _again_, or I'd kill him." I sighed and added, "Then again, that would probably make your job easier if the Joker wasn't alive, since your rule is to not kill." I shrugged and then looked over to where he stood – or _had_ stood.

Batman was gone. Unconcerned, I simply leaned my head back, pressing it against the cold wall and closed my eyes. I must have fallen asleep, my mind finally giving in and calming enough to allow me to do so, and the light of dawn awoke me. I might have only received a few hours, but it was better than sleeping uneasily back at the Joker's hideout.

I didn't want to risk being electrocuted by the Joker's collar again so I used my actual criminal talents, sneaking into Wayne Enterprises, using my shadow ability to blend into the shadows. I avoided the custodians and the early workers, waiting for one to open a door or ride the elevator. It took over half an hour to wait for someone to summon for the elevator on the first floor, and I had to slip out after they had stepped in before the door closed on me.

With no money, I couldn't buy anything to eat, and I couldn't risk stealing. I was already a wanted person, no need to alert the authorities that I was out and about, especially Tew who had been out to get me since he arrived in Gotham. I had no choice but to return to my new home.

"Well, well, well, look who's _returned_!" the perky voice echoed across the yard where prisons had once been let out once a day to get out their restless energy. "The prodigal daughter's decided to come back."

"I don't expect any welcome," I told Harley wearily, walking right past her without as much as a glance in her direction.

She didn't like that, and she grabbed my arm. On instinct, I spun sharply, slapping her across the face with my free hand. With a quiet gasp and a wince, Harley released me and took a few steps back, placing some distance between us. "Good, cause yah aren't _getting_ any," she said, angrily.

I dropped my arms by my sides, merely looking at her from my half-turned stance. How could _anyone_ enjoy having her around? She wasn't this…_unsophisticated_ back when she worked at Arkham. Even though I hadn't known her that well, she was much more _professional_ back at the asylum. The Joker had _quite_ an effect on her.

"You know, Harley, it's kinda early," I said, deciding to test her limits. "Shouldn't you still be…you know, _in bed_?"

Her eyes narrowed; she understood my hint that as the Joker's "girlfriend", she should be sleeping with him. "He's not _here_," she growled, obviously unhappy that she wasn't with him.

"Out trying to get Batman's attention?" I asked, with fake curiosity.

"Out looking for _you_," she snapped. No wonder she was being usually merciless this morning. Finally decided she was fed up with me stealing the Joker's attention, _especially_ when I obviously didn't want it. Apparently, she hadn't been watching enough to notice my severe dislike for his advances.

"Why would he _bother_?" I asked. "He knows I'll come back, just like you."

Harley's face reddened in anger. "Why _would_ yah come back?" she shrieked.

I rubbed my ear. "No need to shout, I can hear you just fine. I have no other place to go. I'm wanted, just like you."

"Yah aren't _like_ me."

I chuckled, grinning. "You know, that's a line I wanted to hear coming from the Joker's mouth. He was always trying to prove that I was 'like him'. In the end, he was right." I became serious as I asked, "He did the same to you, didn't he?"

"It's what he's trying to prove to Gotham," Harley said. "That everyone's as crazy as he is."

"Careful, Harley. He doesn't like to be called 'crazy'." I turned away, but I didn't get far before I heard Harley's rapid footsteps behind me.

I spun around and ducked in time to avoid getting punched in the face. Harley shrieked nonsensical phrases as she threw punches and kicks at me. With my hands in my pockets, I merely dodged them, moving my body out of the way before she could connect. I didn't bother to throw a hit back at her, but when her fury slipped from her control, I finally freed my hands so I could easily knock her punches harmlessly aside, which only angered her further.

After a few minutes, I swung my leg without much strength behind it, and Harley backflipped away from me, curling into an air somersault before landing gracefully a good ten feet from where I stood. She glared at me, so full of hatred, as she said, "Yah don't _deserve_ Mistah J. He's at the top of the list, outranking yah by lots. He's too _good_ for yah!'

"Too good?" I repeated, arching an eyebrow. "I believe he's the _bad_ one in Gotham." She clenched her teeth together, looking like a cartoon character when they were frustrated. This girl was comical. "If you think he's too good for me, then _have_ him!"

Surprise flickered over her expression, and then the anger returned. "Then tell him to leave yah alone! Yah are _confusing_ his love for me."

"Hey, not my fault that you love him, and he loves me," I said with a careless shrug. "Just be glad I don't love you. That would _definitely_ form a one-way love triangle." Then, I widened my eyes in mock surprise. "Oh, wait, _I'm_ not the one wearing _purple_!"

Harley shook with fury. "Are yah calling my puddin' _gay_?"

"Because he wears purple? Oh no! I'm not _that_ mean. But I'm sure _some_ people think he is because of that little rumor that only gay people wear purple…"

She leaped at me, shrieking like a raging hyena. Once she was in range, I hit her, knocking her down to the ground. She fell on her back, panting to recover her breath, stunned and confused. I stepped to her side and stood over her, the sun's merciless rays striking my eyes. Despite the pain in my tired eyes, I stared Harley down.

"I have nothing against homosexuals, Harley," I said, even though she could care less about my opinion. "And I didn't say that the Joker is gay. I _know_ he's not." Catching the hint, her eyes widened. "Don't take it personally that he chose me before you, Harley-girl," I said, using the Joker's private name for her. "Instead, go ahead and _enjoy_ him. Just tell him to keep the noise down so I don't have to listen to him saying your name during the moment."

I started away, but I heard Harley jumping to her feet. "You _bitch_," she shouted, slightly breathless. I sighed. She was running at me again. This time, I had had enough. I spun, and rather than hit her again, I held out a hand at just the right level. I grabbed her by the neck and, using the strength provided by my anger, lifted her off the ground.

Harley immediately started struggling, her fingers clawing at my hand, her nails scratching me. Even though blood dripped from my hand, I didn't feel the pain. I felt like I had when I had grabbed her neck back in the MCU. I felt in control, and this time, if I wanted to, I could crush her throat and be rid of her, sparing everyone from the mental torture she brought on. She was like the subject of math. Mental Abuse To Humans.

"Shadow!" Because of the moment, my anger flared, and my grip tightened. Harley struggled, her mouth opening and shutting like a fish, hoping for air that she wasn't getting.

"Shadow, let her go." Clenching my jaw, I squeezed a little more, seeing the veins in Harley's neck bulging. Maybe if I squeezed hard enough…

"Shadow, _release_ her!" Unwillingly, I obeyed, and Harley collapsed in a heap on the ground, immediately choking on the air rushing to her lungs. I crouched, sitting on my heels, and Harley shifted weakly away from me, her eyes filled with fear and hatred.

"I'll never understand why you gave up your reputation and the respect you had from your fellow doctors for the Joker," I said. "Everything you worked for, wasted. And you had the _choice_." I said this with a bitterness that emerged from my having lost my reputation against my will.

"I hate you," she gasped in a raspy voice.

"Why is that?" I asked, coldly.

"You're stealing my puddin'," she said angrily, which sent her into a choking fit.

I shook my head. "Maybe you do deserve him," I muttered as I straightened. I spotted the frame of Dean approaching me, and instantly, my anger flared again. I started toward him, and he slowed his advance.

As soon as I reached him, I brought my face close to his, my eyes burning into his. "Stay out of my way, Dean," I told him harshly, quiet enough so Harley couldn't hear. "The next time you interfere, I swear on my life that things will get nasty for you too. Is that clear?"

He didn't respond, but I didn't wait for one. I knew he understood me perfectly well. I also knew that with my threat to him, he understood that I had mentally crossed a line into a place I wouldn't return from.

* * *

**Lordlink13: So...people kept asking for fluff. I don't believe in fluff. I believe in writing a scene because it helps the story progress, whether it's developing a character or strengthening the plot. Readers who want fluff, there's a better chance of getting fluff from the first book, _Joker's Shadow_, because I was still experimenting. I already have this story planned out to the very last line, and I'm sticking to that. I can tell you right now that there will be eleven more chapters after this one. Like I said before, once I have all the chapters written, I'll put them up all in one go because I want this story completed (not in the bad sense, just that the story's been lingering and festering for too long). Having all that said, Read and Review.**

**Oh, and you remember me mentioning the possibility of me writing a fanfic about Bane and an OC? Well, my beta reader has taken that project over, and has posted the first chapter. s/9060600/1/Bane-s-Hench-Chick Go read it. I'm acting as beta reader for her. It's time to give an aspiring Fanfiction writer a chance. Can't get her story? Look her up. Pen name is: ThinkingOfPenNamesAreEvil.  
**


	32. Playing Harley

I had only a few minutes of peace before one of the Joker's men interrupted me. Resisting the urge to explode in the innocent guy's face, I told him to beat it after he passed along his message.

I stepped into the room, only to turn around to leave. However, I heard my summoning: a fist slamming down on the tabletop.

Reluctantly, I stepped back into the room, closing the door behind me. I leaned against it, narrowing my eyes and staring intensively. The Joker matched my glare while summoning me over with his finger. I joined him at the table, turning a chair and sitting astride it with my arms resting on its back.

"You're hard to, uh _control_, Shadow," he began.

"Good," I said. "There's no easy button to push."

His eyes narrowed as he chewed his scars. "Do you have something against my attire?" he asked.

"If this is because I associated purple with gay people, it's not true. Harley was getting on my nerves, so I was being a jerk." I shrugged, my eyes watching his hands as he clasped them, placing them on the table. "It's nothing against you, if that's what you're worried about."

The Joker's scarred mouth twitched, resisting the urge to grin. "I was just _ask_-ing."

"If that's all then," I said, standing up.

"No, sit back _down_, Shadow. I'm not _finished_ with you." Pouting slightly, I obeyed, resting my chin on my arms.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. The Joker huffed irritably. The door opened, and Dean poked his head inside. "There's something you need to see on the news, boss," Dean said. He glanced at me, as if to silently say that I should come too.

Not like the Joker gave me a choice in the matter. He stood, and on the way to the door, he grabbed my wrist, nearly yanking my shoulder from its socket as he jerked me out of my seat. I caught up to the Joker's pace and followed him and Dean down to a breakroom – different from the one the Joker tried to get his way earlier.

The Joker claimed the one comfy lounge chair while his boys were already sitting on the couch and floor. Harley, after throwing an almost comical evil glare in my direction, laid herself at the Joker's feet like a cat. Dean leaned against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, glancing at me through the corner of his eyes. I disregarded him and remained standing by the door.

However, it appeared that I still wouldn't get my way. The Joker lowered his head, gazing at me from underneath his white brow, menacingly. I narrowed my eyes, but reached out, grabbing a wooden chair from the table and swinging it around, sitting astride it and resting my arms on the back. He continued to stare but with a prideful smirk on his face. Oh, how much I wanted to _wipe_ it from his face! He believed he had my loyalty. Oh, was he dead wrong.

Finally shifting my gaze to the television screen, my eyes widened slightly. Tew's smug face filled nearly the whole screen as he spoke to a reporter who was asking him about details on the newest criminal, AKA me.

"_Wasn't this the past criminal who supposedly worked with the Joker?"_ the reporter asked.

"_Yes, it is. And she managed to sneak her way into the police headquarters, portraying as one of the detectives," _Tew said boldly.

"_Even under Commissioner Gordon's nose?"_

"_Unfortunately. She caught Catwoman, in order to receive trust and loyalty from the other cops. Detective Jane McKinley was – and is – the criminal formerly named Shadow, and she needs to be returned to Arkham Asylum, where she belongs."_

He held up the videotape that I instantly recognized. My eyes widened for a split second, but then it connected. Of course, Jason probably set him up to have access to the videotape too, even if it was sent to the Commissioner.

"_I have files that testify to her insanity, and this tape is also evidence, given to us graciously by an unknown sender."_ When the reporter asked for it, Tew shook his head, telling him that it was evidence and could not be viewed by the public. _"The Major Crimes Unit has taken hit in its reputation, but it will not be marred for long."_

"_You sure are confident, Detective Tew."_

If Tew could become any more smug, every television screen that was on the news would scatter into pieces.

"_I have seen this before. I have helped other police headquarters to recover, and it is my duty to do the same here in Gotham City."_

Outward, my face remained expressionless. Inward, I was laughing up a storm. It was _Tew's_ duty to fix Gotham's police force? I was choking inside my head. Since when did Tew know how to be comical?

"_And without a doubt, the police force will take down all the criminal masterminds of the city, especially the infamous Joker."_ Tew chuckled. _"Don't know why any of you are scared of him. He's a prankster and a very lame clown."_

A savage growl echoed in the otherwise silent room. I moved my gaze over to the Joker, sensing the crackling danger coming from him. His gloved hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly, so tightly the wood creaked. He struggled to contain his anger as he slowly stood up. His henchmen watched him uneasily, moving away from him. Even _Harley_ looked frightened, slipping from her seat on the floor near his feet and crawling away. The Joker, unaware of the movement of the others in the room, approached the television, his lean frame shaking.

An amused grin spread across my lips. The others in the room might not understand it, but I knew Tew; he was provoking the Joker. His motive was a mystery, but that doesn't mean he had good intentions.

The Joker only stood in front of the television for a few moments before swiftly pulling a gun from his pocket and firing at it.

The TV cracked with electricity and fell off the little table it was being balanced on, crashing to the floor. The Joker lowered his gun and remained standing there, breathing so heavily that I heard it from across the room.

"That poor television," I remarked, breaking the dead silence in the room, "What did it _ever_ do to you?"

I felt the startled gazes of Harley and guys on me. As much as I wanted to see the shocked expressions on their faces, I kept my eyes on the Joker, waiting to see his reaction to my words.

Still shaking in rage, the Joker half-turned slowly, his eyes burning as he turned his head.

"You know, the _tape_ will ruin _me_, not you," I pointed out boldly, waving a hand in the direction of the ruined television. "The TV certainly hadn't done anything. It's Tew you'd want to shoot, not the screen."

I heard an audible _click_ and smirked. "Go ahead, Joker," I told him, resting my chin on my arms lazily. "Throw your switchblade. Try to get _right here_." I jabbed my thumb to the center of my forehead.

The Joker simply stared, the fires still burning in his eyes. His hands clenched tightly around gun and switchblade. It was amazing that he could be so _angry_ yet still manage to focus on one person without losing it. Why did it _have_ to me, though?

"You…want me…to _throw_ this?" he asked slowly, the rage still evident in his voice. As he spoke, the guys and Harley looked at him, but their gazes switched to me comically to see how I would react.

I shrugged. "I _dare_ you." Again, I jabbed my thumb against my forehead, grinning as I did it.

He was frozen to the spot, staring in my direction. After a moment, I dropped my hand, dangling it over the back of my chair, and returned his motionless gaze. An even staring contest, he wasn't moving, and I wasn't going to move either. I didn't want to test if he was going to shoot me if I even flinched.

Seconds ticked by, either of us had blinked. Unfortunately, the back of my neck started to get itchy. I was too still for my body's liking, and after a minute, the itchiness had spread down to my back and was spreading from there.

Fortunately, I wasn't the first to move. One of the boys, I was guessing some new guy cause they tend not to last long, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. That was it, and the next thing that happens, is the Joker lifting his gun and firing at the guy, shooting him without even pulling his stare from mine.

My ears rung with the echoing gunshot, and out of curiosity, I glanced in the direction of the dead guy. Shot in the head, and his boss wasn't even _looking_.

"Aaand…you lost."

I returned my attention to the Joker, narrowing my eyes. "I did," I said slowly, "I looked away first."

A smirk stretched across his scarred lips as he lowered his arm, holding the gun. Ignoring the others, he sauntered directly toward me. My chest tightened as he approached, but I merely looked up, refusing to lose control in front of his guys. He pocketed his gun as he crouched in front of me, narrowing his eyes slightly and tilting his head.

"You enjoy walking the edge, don't you?" he asked, twirling his switchblade between his fingers.

I shrugged again. "How did you know?" I replied, sarcastically. "And all this time, I thought I was hiding it _so_ well."

"_Har_-dly," he replied.

"You know, you should really check in for anger management," I told him. "I know you're not as bad as Batman, but really…you have quite a temper at times."

The Joker chuckled, to my annoyance. "My psychologist tried that. It didn't work." He straightened and turned to the still stunned henchmen in the room. "I'm sure you have _something_ to do other than just stand there like a bunch of cows ready for the slaughter!" he growled. Almost immediately, his boys started for the door. "Fred, George, take out the garbage, will yah?" Two guys stopped and turned back for the corpse on the floor.

Harley flinched when the Joker motioned her toward him, but she came, clearly frightened that he might do something to her if she didn't obey. As soon as she was close enough, he grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him. She particularly swooned in his arms as he swooped her low, tango-style.

I rested my head on my arms, grinding my teeth. I hated that the sight of the Joker with Harley caused a hint of jealousy to run through me. Over and over in my head, I repeated to myself that I wasn't his, didn't want to be his, and never _ever_ will be his again.

The Joker chuckled – probably at my reaction – but told Harley, "I've got a job for you."

"Is this an actual job, or are yah talking dirty to me?" The images that ran through my head were totally unnecessary, but I couldn't help it.

The Joker barked with laughter. "It's an actual job. Think you can go find out where that, uh _outsider detective_ lives? He doesn't look like that kind of guy who keeps evidence found back at headquarters. He has that tape, and I want it."

"You didn't send it?" Harley squeaked.

I looked up, sensing the sudden change in the Joker's attitude. He leered at Harley, and she squirmed in his arms, sensing what was coming. Without a word, the Joker dropped her on the floor, and without a glance, he stepped over her and walked past me, leaving the room.

Harley sat up, rubbing the back of her head. I grinned at the sight of her, but the smile vanished when she glanced at me. "Should've been obvious he _didn't_ send it," I told her quietly so that the Joker didn't hear me. "Why else would he get upset?"

Harley glared at me. "Maybe _you_ sent it."

"And ruin my good short-lived reputation with the police?" I laughed softly as I stood and headed for the door. "You're out of your mind."

"Where do _yah_ think yah're going?"

"To find somewhere to sleep, and to get away from you."

* * *

"Where is Harley?" The angry shout echoed through the cell block, tearing me from my sleep. With an inner groan, I rolled onto my back and dropped my arm over my eyes. A door opened with its metallic rattle, slamming shut with a boom, a sound I had no doubt spread despair through inmates when the prison had been in use. Feeling like a prisoner, I felt that despair in my gut.

My heart pounded in unison with footsteps down on the main floor, the strides of one person I didn't want to deal with right now.

"Bleak!" he shouted again, his rage evident in his husky voice.

"He's not here," I muttered to myself.

"_BLEAK!_"

"I'M RIGHT HERE!" I jumped, my breath catching in my throat, nearly sending me into a coughing fit. The second voice – which was indeed Dean's – answered from the cell next to mine. While the blood pounded in my ears, the cell block creaked open, and footsteps marched away along the walkway.

"Harley's gone," the Joker said, barely holding in his fury.

"So I've heard," Dean's voice responded. His footsteps sounded on the metal stairs down to the main floor.

"Where is she?" the Clown Prince of Crime demanded.

"How should I know? She doesn't exactly _confide_ anything to me." I sat up and hung my legs over the edge of the metal bed, stretching as the Joker huffed below.

"I want you to find her," he ordered.

"What am I? Her caretaker?" I blinked the sleep out of my eyes, wondering if Dean would get it from talking back.

"Bleak," came a growl.

"Why aren't you asking where Shadow is?" Dean demanded. Hearing my name, I furrowed my brow, cursing Dean in my head for throwing me under the bus. "That's generally your request."

"Because I know she hasn't left," was the answer.

I chuckled darkly to myself as I dropped lightly on the floor and began doing pushups – not for any particular reason, just to wake myself up.

"Yeah, no thanks to my collar."

"Of course, now go get Harley."

"Get her yourself."

I froze, holding myself extended from the ground. Did Dean say what I _thought_ he said? And to the Joker's _face_?

A silence settled uneasily about the cell block. Unable to stay up, I climbed to my feet, padding over to the door and peering through the bars. From my position, I couldn't see either man, but a tension rose from where they would be standing, underneath the platform.

"Go. Get. Harley," the Joker growled.

"No."

I opened the cell door, causing it to squeal upon its hinges. It caught the attention of both men, and I merely closed the door before walking along the walkway to the stairs. I didn't look at them until I hit the main floor, standing by the metal steps and staring. Two pairs of brown eyes stared back at me, but only for a short minute before one pair averted to the other.

The Joker grabbed Dean by the collar, and his switchback clicked in his hand. Unlike what he has done to him, he kept his weapon by his side. I stepped forward before the clown decided to change his mind.

"I'll find her," I told him.

He slowly turned his head back, his eyes narrowed. "Why?" he growled.

"Because I want something to do." He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. "Something _I_ choose to do."

Hearing this, the Joker's eyes flashed angrily. His hand released Dean and went for my collar, but I sidestepped and backed up out of his reach. "You're not going out there," he said, sternly.

"If you're worried I'll leave, you know I've tried once," I said, tapping my collar. "I came back that time, and I'll come back again _this_ time."

"She's right, boss," Dean said. "Where does she have to go?" I gave him a look, silently warning him to keep his mouth shut.

"Shut up, Bleak," the Joker growled. "You'd get out of the city," he said to me.

"Where the hell would I go?" I asked. "Look, I'll go find Harley and bring her back. I'll put the collar back on-."

"I never said you could take it off."

"I'll find her quicker if it's off. Do you _want_ her to get hurt? _I_ could beat her senseless like that." I snapped my fingers to emphasize.

"There's a difference. You're strong; she's not."

"Thanks for the compliment," I remarked, sarcastically. "Take this damn collar off so I can look for her."

"You're not going out."

I stepped up, my face looming into his, giving him a daring look. "I didn't ask for your permission."

"Your collar isn't coming off," the Joker said in a low growl. "Bleak, get Harley."

"_I'll_ get Harley," I snapped, emphasizing the fact that _I_ was going to do it. I threw a look at Dean, and then, despite knowing the consequence, I shadowed.

The electric shock hurt. I lost control over my body, back arching, one hand clenching, the other stretching, my limbs failing uncontrollably.

When it stopped, I panted, sprawled on the floor, lying on my back. Working to regain my breath, my eyes wandered, finding that I had shadowed into a security booth, particularly Dean's tech room. I exhaled sharply, realizing that I had thought of a place I could relax, not out in Gotham City.

After a few minutes recovering, I sat up and crossed my legs. I grabbed the collar, loathing it for its ability to restrict my freedom and my shadowing.

Climbing to my feet, I hurried to search the booth. There had to be a spare key from the collar, and since it was Dean's invention, it should be in his room. My hands moved swiftly, opening drawers, shifting through papers and wires, feeling around the keyboards for the key rod. I discovered my Slavic pistol and quickly shoved it into my jacket before continuing my search. With my ears tuned, I listened for the approach of footsteps as I continued my search. Even with my heightened hearing, I didn't hear the man who snuck in behind me until he closed the door.

Instantly, I spun, fist leading. He ducked and then blocked my follow-up. "Shadow, it's me," he said.

I blinked, realizing it was only Dean. Before I apologized, the Joker's voice echoed toward the booth, announcing his approach. Dean quickly covered my mouth, placing a finger to his lips. He reached into his pocket and revealed the key rod. Without looking at me, he pressed it to the plate in the collar.

The collar slipped off my throat, but I caught it before it clattered to the floor. Dean shoved the key rod into my hand and turned to the door, as if expecting the Joker to burst through the door in any minute. After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder, spotting me still standing there, and said, "Go."

Without more hesitation, I shadowed away.

The collar recognized the sudden change in location and sent a course of electricity through its form. With my hand gripping it, I received the shocks and dropped to my knees, releasing it. The shock still coursed through me, but I recovered faster, placing my hands on the ground to steady myself while regaining my breath.

The collar crackled for a few moments more before it finally calmed. I still hesitated to touch it, phantom shocks running through me, but I ordered myself to suck it up and grabbed the collar, shoving it and the key rod into my pocket.

I proceeded to shadow about the city, looking for Harley. The collar made it slow going because t shocked me every time I shadowed, but my jacket muffled it some. Regardless, it still hurt so I eventually spaced out my usage of my ability and patrolled the area on foot. Although I didn't find Harley, I learned the city almost inside and out – something I couldn't quite claim even during my time as detective.

Taking a break on the ledge of my old apartment building, I squinted, scanning the city and mentally charting where I had been. I hesitated before heading out again, debating dropping by Xander's apartment. Even if I did, what would I tell her? That I wanted out? The Joker's being too forward? I didn't love him anymore?

I had known that I didn't love him anymore; I was a different person from before losing my memories. For my past's sake, I had promised to give him a chance, but after how he has been treating me, like a trophy he demanded returned, I believed he lost his chance. The _thing_ still had feelings for him, more like just lust, but I wasn't falling for the likes of him.

With a sigh, I resigned my wish to see Xander and shadowed to the Narrows, the last place I wanted to look.

I had found her here last time. Remembering our fight, which she started, I almost expected it to happen again. I had been a detective then, not a fugitive. Wandering the filthy streets, I paused by a tall menacing building.

Someone had broken many of its windows, and its walls supported graffiti. Sayings like _Beware the bat_, _Arkham will have your soul_, and _Remember Fear Night_ sprawled over the brick in bright neon colors. I made my way to the main entrance and settled my curiosity with a fallen, forlorn sign reading "Arkham Asylum", missing the H in Arkham which lay on the ground near it. Narrowing my eyes, I gazed at the former asylum, thankful I never had to be there – the new one isn't that much better, but this one held an intimidating aura.

"How convenient to see you here, Shadow," a cold voice said.

I spun, and my eyes widened and then narrowed. Peter Sullivan faced me, a small menacing grin stretched over his mouth, his eyes lacking life. "Nice to see you too," I replied, sarcastically.

"It's my pleasure," he said, dipping into a curt bow. He straightened, shifting his stance. "I assume you aren't here because of the show."

I resisted the temptation to arch an eyebrow. "What show?" I demanded, steeling my voice.

He smirked. "You haven't heard of the grand show of Harley Quinn? Here's the summary. Harley Quinn, separated from her lovin' boss, finds out how truly dangerous it is to be around him. Spoiler alert: she dies."

"Not on my watch," I growled. Afterward, I would wonder why I needed to defend Harley, but at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to deny him the pleasure he no doubt believed he deserved.

A cry pierced the night air, and I instantly recognized it as Harley. I set off, sure that Peter would stop me, but he merely smirked and stepped out of my way. Passing him, I listened for another cry, and once another sounded, I took off.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Another chapter updated. It's been awhile, due to finishing up a tough semester. I know, it's a bit of a cliffhanger, I'm evil. But that's what keeps people reading, though I believe I have your attention regardless. I hope you all enjoyed it. Read and Review.**


	33. Memory Lapse

With Harley's mixed shrieks and grunts as a guide, I located her quickly. She faced four men, swinging a purse at any that stepped too close. One did, and her purse connected. By the man's painful cry, I assumed she had a brick or two inside the bag.

"Stay away from me, you pigs," she shrieked, her voice filled with anger. "If Mistah J hears about this, yah'll gonna be in trouble." The men chuckled as one, their laughter echoing one another like one's echo through an empty hallway. "Laugh all yah want. Mistah J will make yah all pay." With that, she swung as she jumped forward, meaning to start the fight this time.

By then, I had approached the men from behind, and with the flow of my shadow strength, I pressed my hands into their backs and shoved. Caught off guard, the two men stumbled forward, tripping over their feet, falling into Harley's swinging purse and receiving heavy blows to their faces.

The man on my right hadn't fully registered his companions' movements as I stepped into his reach and slammed my elbow into his chest. Wind whooshed out of his lungs, and he dropped, gasping.

A form flew over me. Distracted, I spotted Harley as she landed lightly on the balls of her feet and took off running back the way I had come. Muttering under my breath, I faced the last man.

He nearly caught my nose, but I bent backwards, narrowly missing breaking my face. Swiftly, he retaliated and kicked at my shin.

The impact didn't hurt as much as I thought it would, but it cracked my emotion barrier. Anger seeped through the cracks as I thrust out my leg, kicking him first in the stomach and then lowering my aim to his kneecap. An audible _crunch_ followed the hit, and the man screamed in agony as he collapsed, withering on the ground, his hands grasping his broken knee.

Seeing that Harley had disappeared, I ran after her, switching on my shadow sight, seeing an intangible illusion of her back that I followed. After several turns, I hadn't caught up with her, and already, I heard the pursing footsteps of at least two of Harley's attackers. Feeling the strong urge to reach her and take her to safety, without thinking, I shadowed forward to her spot, following her trail.

I hit her from behind, falling over her and then convulsing as the collar in my pocket sent the expected shocks. Harley shouted at me, shoving me off and running again. Despite the electricity, I focused my shadow to fight the spasms and climbed to my feet, thrusting my hand into my pocket for the collar, throwing it away from me, frustrated that I constantly had to deal with it.

Lights blinded me, and I raised a hand to block it. Tires squealed to a halt, but not in enough time. The fender struck my thigh, pushing me to the ground. I landed on the road, rolling on the concrete, scrapping myself up. Something clattered to the ground near me, but I didn't care as gunshots sounded, a bullet hitting the road at my feet.

I scrambled to my feet and broke into a run after Harley, ignoring the shouts calling after me.

I caught sight of Harley and quickened my speed, gaining on her. She glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes widened. Rather than listen to her annoying voice, I told her, "Keep going."

A bullet whistled by my ear, and I remembered the pistol in my jacket. With it, I fired behind me, hoping to force the men to think twice and retreat. As I glanced behind to check, I spotted two of the four running after us, the third farther behind and doubled over. At least I got one of them.

Harley ducked around the corner in front of me. As I rounded the same corner, I twisted my body, firing two shots. I heard the two men behind us fall to the ground, but I didn't stop to investigate.

Harley had disappeared, but I sensed her shadow and locked on it. If she was going to survive the night, I had to keep up.

As I put on a burst of speed, I wondered why I was trying to save her. She was annoying as heck, and I didn't like her. The Joker might remorse some for her loss but not for long. I didn't see any personal gain from it, particularly not more of the clown's attention since I had all of it already.

What did it matter? I was running after her already, wounded – at least – three guys in my attempt to be a hero. Might as well see how long this can go on before I lose her.

I finally caught up to her, where she had stopped in an alley to take a breather. The moment I appeared, she swung her purse at my head. I barely ducked in time to avoid most of the impact, but she clipped my shoulder, still sending me reeling.

"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed, surprised. If I wasn't in pain, I would have given her a look for the sudden lack in bitterness.

"For a skinny person, you contain a great deal of strength," I groaned, hunched against the alley wall.

"Sorry," she mumbled as I steadied myself. "Did we lose 'em?"

It was strange to hear the word 'we' from her mouth, especially when it meant me and her. "I think so…for now anyway."

She leaned her back against the wall and slid down its length. "Gee, I thought I was a goner back there."

"We wouldn't want that to happen now, would we?" I knelt and rubbed my shin. One of the guys had kicked me, and it really hurt.

"Who were those guys?" Harley asked.

I lifted my gaze, seeing her staring at me, waiting expectantly for an answer. It unnerved me; I couldn't see any hint of hatred in her expression. How in the world could she be friendly toward me when all this time she had hated me, even when I was still a patient in Arkham and her, a well-respected doctor? Did the threat on her life make something snap inside her?

"Hunter's men," I finally replied.

"Who?"

"Hunter." I remained kneeling as I checked the ammo in my Slavic pistol. I heaved a sigh; I only had a few shots left. "A former patient of Arkham who's out to get the Joker."

Harley's face reddened under her white makeup, and it felt odd that it wasn't aimed at me for once. Her small form shook with rage, and I merely watched her, waiting. It took only a few more seconds before the volcano erupted. "What does he have against Mistah J?" Harley exploded, furiously.

I waved my hands, trying to motion her to be quiet. "It's not the Joker he's against; it's everyone close to him, Harley."

She huffed, catching my silent order. "But you said he was out to get 'im?"

"To get his attention."

"How do you know that?" Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Are you in league with this Hunter creep?"

"You've _got_ to be kidding, Harley. That man's been after me since I joined the Joker's gang last summer." It clicked in my mind, another fact of my past connecting with the other scattered pieces.

Her eyes widened. "_Real_-ly?"

"You're so comical, Harley," I said, almost fondly. "Does it help to know that this Hunter is an ex-henchman of the Joker's and that he has this sick infatuation for him?"

Harley's face would've been very white even without the makeup when she heard the last part. She opened her mouth to speak but no words would come.

"Tonight was his attempt to bump you off," I told her. "Luckily, I caught on. You don't owe me anything; I'd rather not have you in my debt."

"Not like I would want to be," Harley muttered.

I heaved myself to my feet. "We're heading back."

"Yah aren't the boss of me."

I narrowed my eyes, glaring at her, while secretly, I was thankful for her return of total disregard toward me. "As of this moment, I am. We're going back so that the Joker's your boss again. I don't want to have to _deal_ with you for longer than is necessary." She pouted as she crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. "Don't give me attitude, Harley. You're not a thirteen-year-old teenage girl anymore. Act like an adult."

"Promise, on your life, that yah'll stay away from my Puddin'."

"Open your _eyes_, Harley," I snapped. "I haven't wanted him near me since before day one. Keep him away from _me_." She huffed, and rather than continue the conversation that wouldn't get either of us anywhere, I grabbed her arm and shadowed back to the old prison. I didn't even wait to see her reaction to the sudden change in surroundings; I released her and then briskly walked back toward the cell block I had slept in earlier.

I didn't want to think about her or the conversation. She was blinded by her obsession with the Joker; she thought I was competition and that I was constantly trying to steal him from her. Well, I wasn't doing any of that; I wanted nothing to do with him, yet he's the one _insisting_ on making advances that are obvious to everyone that he has some kind of sick motive toward keeping me around.

I turned the corner and faltered. Dean stood leaning against the wall, staring in my direction. I wondered if he had been expecting me, waiting for me to return. Remembering what he had risked by giving me the key rod to my collar, I suddenly felt ashamed for not taking the chance to leave rather than search for Harley. The taste of regret dried up my mouth, and I swallowed hard. Catching my hesitation, I pushed on, thinking he wouldn't bother speaking to me if I avoided eye contact.

He proved that I couldn't get away with that. "You're back," he said, casually.

I continued past him, still avoiding his eyes. I gave no response.

He pushed off the wall and kept pace with me. "I thought you would take the chance to escape."

"Obviously not," I said. I felt his eyes and swallowed with difficulty.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Why?"

"You're limping and walking like you're in pain."

I shrugged, acknowledging the ache throughout my body. "That collar of yours does its job well."

He hesitated but explained, "It was going to be the alternative to wearing the chains while you were in Arkham."

I involuntarily shuddered. "How'd the Joker get his hands on it? I don't see you giving it to him of your free will."

"He walked in while I was tweaking it. And he's not the type of guy to let you hide things from him once he sees it."

I laughed darkly. "That he is," I agreed, thinking of his obsession with me. "Thank you for earlier," I added in a lighter tone. "Harley wouldn't be alive if I hadn't gone out to find her."

"What happened?"

I didn't hesitate. He knew everything about Hunter already. "She was Peter's target."

His face darkened. "I thought he was out to get you."

"Me and everyone who is close to his boss and who poses a threat to him." I shook my head. "I thwarted his plan this time around."

"Why'd you save Harley? I thought you didn't like her."

"To be honest, at the time, I was only thinking of thwarting him."

"But it's something more."

I furrowed my eyebrows, still refusing to look at him. "What makes you think that?"

Dean shrugged. "Because deep down, you probably felt that you were saving Dr. Young."

I stopped dead in my tracks. Dean stopped and looked back at me curiously. My eyes fell to the floor, blurring slightly, but not from sadness.

Dean sensed the tension in the air and decided to change the subject. "Why didn't you simply escape?"

"Where was I supposed to go?" I demanded, lifting my gaze. I glared at his face but still avoided his eyes. "You of all people understand that the Joker will never let me go."

"You'd have to convince him-."

"There is no convincing him, Dean. This is the _Joker_ we're talking about."

"Still, you should have gone to Xander."

I laughed, the darkness returning. "I thought you didn't trust her."

"You're better off with her than the Joker."

"You're just saying what I want to hear," I spat.

"Or I'm actually saying what I believe. Do you remember everything about your past time with him? And don't lie to me."

My rage grew at the mere mention of my still lost memories. "What are you getting at?" I asked. "Are you going to tell me that I was just like Harley? Taking the abuse and still loving him?"

Dean shook his head. "He was rough even then, but he never did anything like what he does to Harley."

"As far as you know."

"If he hurt you, it was with words or emotionally; the physical would be if both of you were fighting."

I shook my head, not believing a word of it. "I don't care about the past anymore. I'm focusing on the present. I don't dare think about my future either."

Dean chewed his lower lip, an action that reminded me instantly of the Joker. With an exasperated breath, I turned on my heel and started back the way I had come.

"Shadow, wait." I slowed to a halt, clenching my teeth and glaring at the floor. "May I speak with you?"

I turned, giving him a hard look. "I thought you already were."

"In private," he explained, motioning to a door which most likely led to a cleaning closet.

In my mind, I debated ignoring him or waiting to see what he had to say. I already felt as though he had been attacking me; I didn't want to hear any more about my past relationship with the Joker. I wanted to leave that behind me, and if Dean wanted to keep bringing it up, I would have to add him to the list of loose ends to tie off.

Finally, my curiosity won; I shrugged. "What the heck." He opened the door, allowing me to enter first. My guess had been correct; Dean closed us inside the closet with several old mops, brooms, and buckets. I scrunched my nose at the musty and moldy smell. "Better make this quick," I told him. "Last thing we need is to inhale airborne mold."

"If we haven't already," he said.

I chuckled softly. "That's morbid."

"I do what I can." He shifted several mops, and his leg bumped against mine. I purposely moved it away from his position. "Do you remember-?"

"Why are you dredging up the past?" I snapped.

"This time, it's about us, how we became friends in the first place."

I shook my head, even though I knew he couldn't see it. "I'm not in the mood, Dean."

His calm composure broke for a few seconds as he heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Finally," I exclaimed, "You get irritated with me too. It's a wonder why you're so patient with me. I must make living with the Joker seem like a walk in the park."

"He beats you by a _long _shot," Dean said.

"I can fix that."

"I prefer that you don't."

"Why not? It would make it that much easier to hate me."

"I don't hate you."

"Oh sure, you do. It's probably the reason why you can't simply leave me alone."

"Quite the opposite. I've told you my feelings before, Shadow."

His bluntness caught me off guard. "Whoa, wait, what?" He didn't respond, letting me remember it for myself.

A sharp pang shot through my head, and even though we were in the dark closet, abruptly my vision revealed a warehouse hanger through a windshield.

_I sat in the driver's seat of a red truck, my hands running over the steering wheel anxiously._

"_You okay, Shadow?"_

_I instantly recognized Dean's voice.__Heaving a sigh, my hands held onto the bottom of the steering wheel.__"No, Dean, I'm not."__I looked over, seeing him standing in the open door to the truck.__"Why is it that whenever the Joker and I have a hard time, _you're_ the first one who finds me?"_

_He shrugged.__"Just coincidence, I guess."__He watched me for a few seconds before asking, "Have you been crying?"_

_I noticed the blurriness in my eyes.__I brought my hand to my eyes, trying to wipe away the tears.__Dean reached out and grabbed my wrist.__"It was worse this time," he said, matter-of-factly.__"You've never cried after a hard time with him.__Did the Joker hurt you?__He hit you, didn't he?"_

"_He hasn't hit me since my first few days here."_

"_What did he _do_ to you?"__His expression hardened, and anger flashed in his eyes._

"_What do you care, Dean?"_

"_I _care_ because I'm your _friend_."_

"_You wouldn't understand."_

"_I understand enough to know that this isn't who you really are," he said._

_My anger boiled inside me.__"Then who _am_ I?" I snapped.__"You've only known for about a month.__Who do you think I am?"_

"_Sara," he sighed _– a jolt past through me –_ "You helped me with my memories.__I know a little about you, that you were a quiet bookworm in the past.__I may not know what happened to you since then, but I know that no one's changed you as much as the Joker.__I care that you're changing into a monster, like _him_.__I don't want you to lose sight of who you really are."_

I closed my eyes, wishing the stop of the flashback. It quieted for a bit, and I was convinced it had ended. When I opened my eyes, it continued, skipping some of it as if I had fallen asleep during a movie.

_Dean held my hand.__"As your friend, Sara, I'm _telling_ you to leave, for your own good."_

_I chewed my lip.__"I can't, Dean," I whispered.__"I've been alone too long…"_

"_You don't _have_ to go alone, Shadow."__My gaze lifted to his.__"I'll go with you.__I'll take you away from here."_

_Fear stabbed through me.__"The Joker would know, Dean.__It wouldn't work.__He'd come after me, after you."_

"_No, he won't.__You'll be leaving him willingly.__He doesn't really need me; he just keeps me around because I amuse him."_

_A small smile crept upon my face, and I ducked my head.__Dean cupped my chin, tilting my head back up.__His tongue quickly slid over his lips and said, "He doesn't need me so he won't miss me.__He'll let you go.__If you come with me, I _promise_ to protect you, to stay with you so that you'll never be alone again."_

There was a glint in his eyes that I had seen before. He looked so serious, like he would hold himself to what he had said. A shaky breath escaped my lips as _I stared into his eyes._

"_Why would you go this, Dean?" I asked.__"We've only known one another for a short time, even if we knew each other in middle school.__This is the _Joker_, we're talking about.__Why would you risk your _life_ for me?"_

_He hesitated, shifting his weight nervously.__Then, in a strong voice, he said, "Because I love you, Sara."__As I blinked, he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine._

It tasted so real. I thought I had managed to shadow back in time, but I realized after a few moments that it was real. The real Dean was kissing me, his hand gently pressing against the nape of my neck, drawing me close.

At first, I thought to pull away. All the times the Joker had kissed me flashed across my mind, nearly ruining Dean's chance. Then, I discarded the thought, focusing more of the effect Dean's action had.

I felt a stirring inside me. The _thing_ made no sound; it was something else, something that felt more familiar that the _thing_.

Dean started to move away. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice unusually soft.

"Don't apologize and come back," I said. Placing my hands on either side of his face, I brought him back, guiding his mouth to mine. A spark jolted through me as our lips touched, and I felt the darkness inside me lift.

It would have continued for longer had the Joker not bellowed my name at the top of his lungs. Startled, Dean and I pulled away, gasping heavily, breathless from the intense kiss. Even as we clambered out of the smelly closet, I recognized the difference between how the Joker and Dean made me feel.

For a second time, I thought of my loss of memory as a blessing. I had rejected Dean in the past, but abruptly, I understood his worth.

The Joker sped around the corner and instantly spotted Dean and I. As he threw a glare in Dean's direction, I feared he sensed what had occurred between us. I felt no relief when that same glare found me.

"Did you _not_ hear me _calling_?" he demanded as he continued to advance on me.

"Of course," I said, rolling my eyes. "I was trying find a place to hide."

The Joker's eyes darkened. "And you go to _him _instead?" He glanced at Dean, snarling.

"He wouldn't let me hide." I pouted, lying it on thick that I didn't like him, hiding that I did. "So, thanks to your obedient _servant_, I have to deal with you."

"Good," he said, reaching out with a gloved hand and smacking Dean's cheek none too gently. "He knows where his loyalty lies, unlike you, Shadow."

"Really? This is the thanks I get for saving your girl's ass."

"Oh, that payment will come fairly soon. Bleak, the dogs could use a walk; they're restless."

Dean hesitated for a split second, in which he glanced at me. He read my expression and nodded. "Scout in particular?" he asked.

The Joker gave him a sarcastic look. "Go," he said simply. "Shadow and I have to _talk_." He snarled the last bit, and Dean straightened, setting his jaw. Because the Joker wasn't paying attention to me, I shook my head at Dean, and he caught my movement, reluctantly stepping down and heading toward where the dogs were held.

In a flash, the Joker slammed me against the wall, the impact jarring my spine. I inhaled sharply through my teeth. His gloved hands gripped the flaps of my jacket, securing me to him so I couldn't escape by shadowing. "What was _that_?" he demanded.

I assumed he meant Dean. "I was trying to hide, but he caught me."

An angry growl emanated from his throat. "Don't lie to me, Shadow. I know that's not what happened."

I shrugged, trying to pull off the casual. "Think what you want. Most likely, it wasn't what you were thinking of." I tried to escape his grasp, but it was impossible.

"You're not walking away from me," he growled. "I still have yet to _pay_ you."

"I don't want it," I said, but he had already moved. His mouth clamped to my neck, and I gasped in pain as he bit down. "Vampire," I spat involuntarily.

He giggled into my throat as he hugged my arms by my sides, trapping them. He kissed along my neck, nipping and biting. His gloved hands slipped underneath my jacket and shirt, groping my back.

I jerked, kicking his leg, but my foot didn't have enough room to hit him hard. "Back. Off," I said through clenched teeth.

"No," he said, his voice vibrating through my throat.

I struggled, trying to free my arms, but he held them tightly to my sides. "Joker, get _off_ me."

"Not until I've _paid_ you." He tore away from my neck and crushed my lips with his. I opened my mouth to protest, but nearly choked as his tongue invaded. Angrily, I bit down, and he chuckled as he retreated. His face loomed into mine as I closed my mouth, resisting the urge to vomit. "Believe me, Shadow, you'll _enjoy_ it."

I glared at him, wishing I could burn holes in his brown eyes. "You can't have me," I told him sternly.

"You know you want it too so stop resisting."

"Go get Harley," I snarled.

The Joker shook his head. "She can't get as angry as you, and rage makes it all the better."

As he dived in for my neck again, I thought of Dean and his kiss. I knew it wasn't the best time to think about him, but thinking about him distracted me from what the Joker was doing. Closing my eyes, I wished that Dean would return and pull his boss off me.

Suddenly, my head started throbbing, and visions of my past flashed behind my eyelids. I felt like I was living outside my body, facing the past. It flashed by so quickly that no one but me could register what memories were returning. Once, there had been love between the Joker and I, a mutual love that could have brought him away from being the Joker and return him back to being the man he truly was.

_Jack Napier_. The name crossed my mind, and I instantly remembered it, mentally correcting myself. There had been no love between the Joker and I. The Joker wasn't Jack Napier. I had loved Jack Napier; he had been buried underneath the Joker until I had arrived in Gotham.

I felt my shadow ability emerging, revealing to me the future that could have happened had things not turned for the worst. Jack Napier could have been saved, by me, had Peter not stepped in and killed that hope by bashing in my head.

I opened my eyes with the discovery. Jack Napier had died the day I nearly died. He lost his mind to the possibility of losing me forever, and in his moment of weakness, the Joker had killed him without guilt. The Jack Napier I had known, and loved, was dead, never to return.

Feeling returned to me as I registered what was happening. The Joker, during my memory-lapse, had set me on the ground, crouched over me. My shirt was already off, thrown abandoned on my jacket along with his jacket and vest. Half his shirt had been unbuttoned, but he had abandoned that, working instead on my belt.

_Jack Napier is dead_, a voice said in my head, and I recognized my own voice. _This is the Joker, not Jack.__Remember Dean Ledger, the man who loves you.__Do not let this monster you see take you_.

It was the _thing_. It was dying inside me with the sad acceptance that who it loved and wanted was dead. It had lost the encouragement from so many people who were convinced my memories would return and I would become who I once was. Now, my past memories – formed into my past self – were finally accepting their time had ended.

The relief didn't have long to breathe. The Joker was bent on having me, his face scrunched in an almost comical expression, but I sensed no humor in the situation. Mentally switching on my shadow ability, I aimed it at the Joker, thrusting it in his face, a blast from the shadows. One moment he was on top of me, and the next moment, he was gone, almost.

I quickly collected myself, surprised to find that I was still in the same place. I had thought my shadowing ability only worked for me, but instead, I had shadowed the Joker, _without_ taking myself with him. For a moment, I smiled, realizing yet another part of my ability, one that even the _thing_ didn't know.

A menacing chuckle sounded behind me, and a shiver ran down my spine. I spun to find the Joker pulling himself together down the hall. "How ex-_cit_-ing," he said, darkly. "The young Shadow's learned a new _trick_. It's a shame she's using it _against_ her boss."

"You were never my boss," I told him. "Even if I agreed to be your employee, I'd never follow your orders."

His head tilted as he sauntered toward me, his shoulders hunched. Many times he had approached me like this, as if he was trying to intimidate me, but it held no power over me. I backed away as he stepped forward to keep some distance between us, but he caught on and quickened his pace.

His insistence that he owns me irritated me. My rage boiled through my veins with every step that he took. With his swift steps, it didn't take long for my anger to burst. "You can't have me," I yelled. The anger in my voice even surprised me.

The Joker halted, his eyes widening slightly, startled by the authority in my voice. Or maybe he stopped because he heard the _hatred_ that I had for him.

It dawned on me that I had also stopped, but I realized that I couldn't back down. I had gained control of the situation, and it would be beneficial to me if I kept that control. So, instead of taking a step back, I stepped forward.

"You can't have me," I repeated. "You can _never_ have me. The past is gone; there's no chance of my memories returning and you and me getting back together, and you know why? We weren't together in the first place."

He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, guessing what he was going to say. "No, I was young and stupid. I didn't see your true nature. It was a _blessing_ that your pal Peter tried to bash my brains out. I can now see you for who you really are, for _what_ you are."

"You're blind," he managed, but I cut him off again.

"Hardly. Between you and me, the blind one is you."

He growled. "You're so un-_grate_-ful."

"Am I?" I thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Honestly, I don't care if I am. And don't give me crap about how you've done everything for me. Nothing you did means anything to me. You've ruined my chance to be a legal citizen in Gotham; you helped ruin my crime."

"You owe me your life."

"I don't owe you a damn thing," I spat. "I'm not your slave or your playtoy. You've got Harley, and that's all you've got. Even if you think there's a chance, I'm saying no. You and I are _never_ going to be."

The Joker hadn't moved from his spot since I yelled at him. Now, he walked toward me. There was no sign of his usual gait; instead, he approached menacingly, almost gliding across the floor. His shoulders hunched and his head lowered, he peered at me from under his white brow. As he neared, his tongue slid out over his scarred lips, and I tensed, ready to hit him once he was in range.

I misread his movements. He stepped differently, and I thought he was going to lunge for me. I moved to sidestep, but then he copied me. Before I could change direction, his hand shot out and grabbed my throat in a vice grip. Tensing his muscles, he slammed me back against the wall. Pain spiked up and down my spine, but I couldn't gasp as his hand closed.

His lean body pressed roughly against mine, trapping me to the wall. His face loomed into mine, breathing hot air over me. My lungs screamed for oxygen, but with the Joker's hand closed around my throat, there was no chance of that. I struggled against him, my nails clawing at his gloved hand.

He brought his face so close that we nearly touched. "You listen to me very, _very_ carefully," he growled, his husky voice low with malice. "You will regret denying me, _Shah_-dow. You can bet your _life_ on it-tah." I saw the glint in his eyes and knew he wasn't lying. His threat would ring true fairly soon. So soon that I barely had time to register what he was doing when he grabbed my forehead with his other hand, tore my head away from the wall and then with all his strength, introduced my head to the wall in a smashing painful greeting.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Been awhile, yes? Sure it has, but I have been using my time wisely...at least this past week. The summer can be either busy as hell or boring as hell (boring as in nonproductive). All of my summer until this week has been that: nonproductive as hell. To get me moving again calls for dramatic change, and that change happened. It might be too early to claim this, but I will change back to updating once a week, on the weekends. So, until next weekend, enjoy! Read and Review!**


	34. Weeks Later

It was the staring.

Xander broke the thin surface of her dreams, bothered by the persistent staring. She didn't move, keeping her eyes shut as she waited, her breathing quickening slightly with the awakening.

Due to the silent staring, she knew who stood in the doorway. "What's your issue, Jon?"

"Do _not_ call me Jon," he said, his tone cold. The reaction made Xander smile.

"What's your issue? You're obviously standing there for a reason."

"That's my bed."

"It _was_ your bed. Past tense. I'm on it. Therefore, it is _my_ bed." She opened her eyes and craned her neck to look at him. "But I'm willing to _share_."

A look flashed across his face, lasting a mere second. He narrowed his eyes. "Do you realize your phone's been going off for the past _hour_?"

Xander rolled her eyes. "Changing the subject," she murmured as she outstretched her hand.

He raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked.

"My phone."

"No."

"Give it."

"What am I? Your slave?"

Her reply was a beckoning with her fingers.

Crane stood there for a few moments, appearing torn between leaving with her phone or simply handing it over. It didn't last long. "Damn," he murmured, barely audible as he slapped the phone into Xander's outstretched hand and stormed out.

"Honey, I'm still willing to share," Xander called after him as she glanced at her phone.

"Go to hell," he retorted.

"I'll meet you there. Should I save you the seat by Bruce?" He made no reply. "Oh come on, you know you love me." Xander checked her phone's recent calls. "Damnit, Bruce."

"Bruce?"

Xander turned her head to see Crane in the doorway again. "Now what?" she snapped.

"You said something about Bruce." She arched an eyebrow. "A doctor always cares about his patients."

"If that's not creepy, I don't know what is."

A genuine smile crept across Crane's face. "So, Bruce called?"

"Thirty-three times, yes."

His face lit up with excitement. "Paranoia. I love a good paranoid patient."

"Remind me not to have you as my doctor," Xander said, sitting up.

"I wouldn't want you as my patient."

"Well now," she said, chuckling darkly. "We'll see about that." He threw a confused yet curious look in her direction, but she waved him off dismissively, running through a series of texts. Her eyes widened when she saw an unknown number and a voicemail. Calling her voicemail to see who it was, she brought her phone to her ear, glaring at Crane when he started talking again.

"When are you going to see him?" Crane asked.

Xander intensified her glare. "Why do _you_ want to know?" He shrugged, trying to hide his excitement. She sighed. "I guess it's better than last time when you were angry with me for dating your patient."

He shrugged and then asked again. "When are you going to see him?"

The voicemail started to play, and Xander recognized the voice that asked her if they could talk. Burning hatred emerged from deep inside her, but Xander ended the call and stood, preparing to leave. This immediately caught Crane's attention, and he followed her out of her apartment, hovering but not saying anything.

Five minutes later, Xander pulled away from the curb, Crane sitting in the backseat with his head between the front seats. "You going to see him?" Crane asked.

"Stop asking," Xander said, speeding down the road. "And don't _touch_ my camera."

Crane retreated from the passenger seat. "Why did you bring it?"

"Why are you coming?" she snapped. "You're like a talkative five-year-old."

"Six and a half…"

"Whatever. I never said if I was going to see Bruce."

"I need to check-up on my patient."

"Get a cab." Xander sped up, almost catching a red light. "I'm dropping you off."

"What? Where?"

"Your pal's place." She didn't glance into the rearview mirror, sensing his confusion. "I'm sure the clown would _love_ to see you. It's been _so_ long."

"Don't you dare," he threatened.

"Then stop asking me about whether or not I'm going to see your paranoid patient."

Crane slumped back into the seat, heaving a disappointed sigh. Xander kept her eyes on the road, her hands firm on the steering wheel. He wasn't quiet for long.

"Last time, I promise." She tightened her grip on the wheel. "Are you?"

"Haven't decided yet." Her tone became quiet, a warning directed at Crane, and he nodded, merely accepting it; he had been around her long enough to read her danger signs. Xander gave a small smile. Crane had learned quick after he had lost a henchman because the man had misread her signals. She didn't even need to look when she shot him point-blank in the forehead; the man hadn't had the chance to realize his mistake.

They drove in silence, the city flashing by with the time ticking away. Xander glanced at Crane in the rearview mirror. He stared intently out the window, fighting his psychiatrist nature. A thin smile made its appearance on her face, content with his inner struggle.

Finally, she decided to put him out of his quiet yet painful misery. "Give me a good reason to not drop you off with your best pal."

"I've been quiet," he said.

"Not a good reason."

"I let you sleep in my bed."

"Decent, but not good enough."

"Why not?"

"You had no choice in the matter."

His eyebrows furrowed in thought. "I'll make you a deal. I'll let you crash in my bed again."

"Better, but still not good enough."

He paused. "I promise not to experiment on Shadow anymore."

She didn't hesitate; it was exactly what she was listening for. "Deal," she said, pulling off from the main road. She rode up the long, curvy driveway, driving past a set of open gates, and then drew around a circle, stopping before the stairs. She threw the gearshift into park and unbuckled her seatbelt. "Stay here," she ordered, opening her door, locking it, and slamming it shut.

"Wait!" Crane protested, but it was already too late.

Xander raced up the front steps and rung the doorbell. She waited patiently, glancing back at her car. She couldn't help but laugh at Crane's shocked and angered expression as he realized where they were.

Alfred Pennyworth opened the door. "Good evening, Ms. Eccleston," he greeted warmly.

"Evening, Alfred," she responded with a smile. "Is Bruce in?"

"Ah, yes. He would be in his study. He's been hoping you would-."

"Alexandra!" Wayne appeared out of nowhere, hurrying to her side and instantly grasping her hand. "Glad you could come."

Xander flashed him a sweet smile, taking note of the panic reflecting in his eyes. "Of course," she said, purposely bumping into him. "I wondered how you were doing now that you're out of the hospital."

"Would you like anything, Ms. Eccleston?" Alfred asked before Bruce could speak.

"A Diet Coke." Xander entwined her fingers with Bruce's, forcing sweetness in front of Alfred.

"And you, sir?"

"Um, white wine, Alfred." The old butler nodded and left the hall.

"You didn't answer my calls," Bruce said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. My phone was off."

"Why?" he demanded, his eyes narrowed.

Xander resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Bruce, what's wrong with a woman taking a nap?" He opened his mouth, his suspicion growing intensively. Xander pressed a finger to his lips. "It was going to be a surprise." Then, she bit her lip. "Hang on, I have to go ask Alfred something. Wait here." She hurried away before he could stop her.

"You didn't pour his white wine yet, have you, Alfred?" she asked as she entered the kitchen.

"I'm about to."

"Give him coffee instead. He needs a wake up call."

"You've noticed," Alfred said, preparing the coffee machine.

"How has he been since he got out?" she asked, making conversation and sounding geniunely worried for her 'boyfriend'.

"He's been pacing for several hours, and I heard him calling you many times. I don't know what's got into him."

"Don't worry, some coffee and a car ride should fix him." She winked. "Fresh air goes a long way, and he's been in the hospital for a few days. He just needs to touch back with reality. And it's a beautiful day to do it."

Alfred nodded. The machine poured the coffee into a mug, and the old butler added two packets of sugar. After stirring it, he placed it on a tray with a can of Diet Coke."

"Allow me," Xander said, taking the tray before Alfred could. "Your turn's next time." She headed back toward the hall.

Bruce had moved into the sideroom, tapping his foot and wringing his hands together. He stood up immediately when Xander entered.

"Relax," she told him, setting the tray down on the coffee table. "I told Alfred not to give you wine. I think you need a boost."

"Did he make it?" Bruce asked, glaring suspiciously at the mug.

"Definitely. His tastes so much better than mine." Xander sat down, popped open her soda, and sipped. "So, I have a surprise for you, but you have to drink that first."

"The surprise isn't in the coffee, is it?"

"Bruce…" She arched an eyebrow, unable to help herself. He took the mug and drained it. "Whoa, you like surprises that much, don't you?"

"What is it?" he demanded. Again, she raised an eyebrow. His hand clenched when she didn't reply. "Alexandra," Bruce said.

"Bruce," Xander said. She drank some of her Diet Coke without taking her eyes off him.

He stood quickly, his face tight, but he outstretched his hand as if to catch himself.

"I think you drank it too fast," Xander deadpanned, setting her soda aside. She grabbed him before he fell, and she pulled his arm over her shoulders. As she walked him toward the front door, she called out, "We're going for a ride, Alfred. I promise to have him back before his curfew."

Bruce became deadweight as she struggled down the front steps. Xander resisted the urge to drop him and roll him down, enduring the rest of the way to her car.

"What did you do to my patient?" Crane demanded.

"Shut up," Xander grunted, fitting Wayne into the passenger seat and buckling him in. She moved to her side and climbed in. "Where can I drop you off with him so I can be rid of you for a few hours?"

Crane smiled. "Finally decided to be my chauffeur?"

Xander turned to glare at him. "I will drop you off with the clown, and you'll lose your 'patient'."

He muttered something under his breath.

"Excuse me, I couldn't quite hear that."

"Just back to the Lab…please."

"Good boy," Xander muttered, pulling out of the driveway.

After she dropped off Crane and Wayne, Xander located a parking garage, driving to the top. She threw her vehicle into park and grabbed her mobile and camera. Setting her phone on the wall, she busied herself with her camera, snapping photos of the late afternoon sky.

The phone acted as a reminder. Every few photos, Xander stepped and glanced at the device, as if expecting it to move. It bothered her that Dean would _call_ her. After their falling-out, neither wanted anything to do with the other. They dealt with one another when they had to, but otherwise, they avoided speaking to each other like the plague.

As she lifted her camera to her eye, the mobile vibrated. Her hand shot out and brought it to her ear as her finger pushed the answer button.

Someone breathed on the other end. _"Waiting for me to call?"_

Xander frowned. "What do you want?"

"_To talk."_

"Well, make it quick." She snapped another photo. "I don't have all day."

"_You're close to Shadow, right?"_

"That's a stupid question."

"_Just answer it,"_ he said, exasperated.

Xander rolled her eyes. "Yes, like best friends."

"_She would come to you if something happened, correct?"_

"_Did_ something happen?" Xander set her camera down, bracing a hand on the wall. "Of course something happened. You wouldn't be calling me otherwise. What did you do? Lose her?" Even as she said it, it clicked. "The Joker did something to her."

Dean didn't respond, confirming her words with a sigh.

"And you lost her."

"_She's not lost,"_ he began.

"No, you lost her. Why else would you be asking if she would come to me?" Xander rubbed her hand over her face. "You're so _responsible_, Dean."

"_I told her to get out."_

"Great, so we don't even know if she's still in Gotham. You don't _think_, do you? Just like before, you don't think."

"_Xander…"_

"Don't call me again unless you found her." Xander hung up and set her phone down, clenching her fists. Inhaling deeply, she reined in her anger toward Dean. She had to focus on reaching Shadow. She didn't know what happened, but she sensed it wasn't good.

Grabbing her phone and camera, Xander returned to her car and peeled out of the parking garage, nearly hitting a pedestrian as she ran a red light.

Xander returned home first, hoping to find Shadow waiting for her. No such luck. She climbed to Shadow's old apartment. The police tape had been removed, but Mrs. Wood hadn't changed the locks. Using the spare key, Xander let herself in.

Shadow wasn't in her apartment either. Determined, Xander searched the rooms. She hoped for a note or a sign that Shadow had been there. Her luck was nonexistent.

"Where could you be?" Xander wondered out loud as she jetted up the stairs. The rooftop was devoid of life.

Climbing back into her car, Xander hesitated, her hand lingering on the key in the ignition. Worry grew in her chest as she dredged her mind for a place Shadow might go.

After the news interview with Tew, would she have turned herself in with the hope that the Joker couldn't get her? Unlikely, Xander thought as she turned the key and drove to the MCU.

She sat there for half an hour, listening to the radio and watching for any sign of her friend. A young cop came out to ask her to leave, and she complied, apologizing and thanking him for not giving her a ticket. She even blew him a kiss, which caused him to blush.

Xander drove through Gotham, drumming her palm against the steering wheel. She debated calling Dean back to see if he had made any progress, but she swiftly discarded the thought. She told him to call her; she wasn't going to admit she was desperate.

Evening approached, and the city streets became filled with vehicles. Xander impatiently drummed her steering wheel, cursing under her breath at the traffic. She located a parking spot and pulled into it, cutting off another driver. When he honked, she flipped him off and remained inside her car, secretly hoping he would confront her. But he didn't.

She bounced her knee. Her cell sat in the passenger's seat with her camera, taunting her. Xander wished Shadow would contact her. Shadow's phone pressed against her leg in her pocket and had been a constant reminder of her friend who had been taken against her will.

She couldn't help feeling like it was her fault. She knew she couldn't trust the Joker, and yet, she allowed him to take Shadow. Frustrated with herself, she punched the dashboard, hitting the tuning button, and the radio switched to classical music.

"Oh _hell_ no," she growled, hitting the power button again.

She continued to watch, hoping to spot Shadow without any more driving around. After an hour, she grew restless. Too worried about Shadow, she couldn't eat to pass the time so she braved the traffic and headed toward the park.

It was seven thirty. Children ran about Hyde Park, rolling on the grass, chasing one another, and laughing and shrieking loudly. Parents called to them, summoning their kids to chastise them or to encourage them to say goodbye to their friends. Instantly, Xander's hopes rose. Shadow loved kids; she surrendered her freedom from the Joker to spare children's lives. Surely, she would feel some need to be near the innocence of children.

Two boys, about the age of six or seven, raced past Xander, laughing as a third chased after them. The third gained on them and tackled the other two. Xander smiled gently at the sight of the three boys laughing on the grass.

Abruptly, one boy sat up and turned to his friends. "So, has that lady moved?" he asked, jerking his dark hair out of his eyes. Xander didn't move, holding up her camera and pretending to look for a decent picture.

The other two boys sat up too. "She's been here for _hours_," one said, over exaggerating the time.

Xander quickly scanned the park. Parents occupied most of the benches or gathered in groups by the playground, keeping an eye on their children. She couldn't spot Shadow anywhere.

"Excuse me," she said. The three boys looked up with surprise. "Sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear you say something about a lady around here. Does she, by chance, have red hair?"

The boys looked at one another, and then the one with dark hair answered, "Yeah. Why?"

"She's my sister," Xander lied. "I've been looking everywhere for her."

"She's on the bench behind the jungle gym." The boy pointed. "Hopefully it's her. She looks a bit lost."

Xander thanked the boys and moved toward the playground. She sidestepped around children, making her way across the grass. She spotted a lone woman sitting on a bench, hunched over, and rubbing her knuckles. Recognizing the nervous tick, Xander approached, watching the woman closely.

The closer she became, the stronger the sense of foreboding grew. Xander hesitated, slowing her pace, but forced herself forward.

Her feet touched the path that wrapped around the park. She stopped again, waiting for the woman to respond or raise her head. "Shadow?" Her voice cracked slightly as she said it. Something was wrong. She could taste it in the air. Worriedly, she cleared her throat and repeated, "Shadow?"

This time, Shadow moved slowly, clasping her hands before she gradually raised her head. Xander had expected to possibly see the Joker's infamous smile carved from her mouth or bruises covering her face. Instead, she saw Shadow's face, forlorn, with dark circles under her eyes. She looked much thinner than last she had seen her, her face leaner, her cheeks sunken, like the Joker had been starving her for some time.

"Shadow," Xander breathed, reaching a hand out to comfort her friend. Shadow's eyes darted toward it, and she slapped it away, startling Xander.

"What was _that_ for?" Xander demanded, an edge to her voice. Then, she met Shadow's gaze, and her blood ran cold. She had sensed something was wrong, and now she saw it. She knew the look in Shadow's eyes all too well.

* * *

**Lordlink13: Weekly update! Yays for actually managing it. I'm working hard on finishing the story and am nearing the end. I'll do the weekly updates until I have written and edited the last chapter, in which case there will be a lovely explosion of chapters to celebrate me finishing after over two years. Whoa...can't really believe that it's been this long, but I hit road blocks that were a million times higher than me. Anyway, I'll stop rambling. Read and Review.**


	35. The Ugly Truth

**Lordlink13: And here is the beginning of the end. And I'll explain in a second after I've saluted **Smiele** for discovering where I got Xander's last name from. Yes, she's named after Christopher Eccleston, the amazing ninth Doctor from _Doctor Who_. No, I won't go fangirl about _Doctor Who_, but I will say that Matt Smith is my absolute favorite.**

**Anyway, back to this, beginning of the end. I have finished the story and will proceed to upload all the chapters at the same time, straight up to the end. I hope you all enjoyed it, and hopefully you enjoy the ending too. And just as a note, I will not be accepting story ideas. Thanks for the opportunity, but I decline. Read along and so long.**

* * *

Xander stirred her coffee, unsure of how to proceed. Shadow sat across from her, rubbing knuckles and staring out the window. Her drink remained untouched and abandoned where the server had set it.

After the initial shock of Shadow's reaction, Xander had insisted on moving to a better location, a bit more private. Shadow appeared reluctant to move from her bench but only struggled until Xander explained who she was and where they were headed. It hurt Xander to see the distrust in Shadow's face, but she pressured her friend to accompany her to the nearest café, across the street from the park.

"Please drink," Xander said. "Just a few sips at least." Her friend kept her gaze on the children running around, but her hand reached out and pulled the coffee toward her. After a moment, she raised it to her lips and sipped.

"Is it too hot?" Xander asked. Shadow shook her head, refusing to look at her as she took another sip before setting it back on the table, her hands cupping it for warmth.

Xander reached across the table slowly and touched Shadow's hand. At the sudden touch, Shadow flinched but did not look at her. The reaction was all too familiar.

"What did he do to you?" Xander asked in a quiet voice. Shadow's mouth twitched, but she gave no response. "You need to tell me, kiddo. I'll kick his ass, but I need to know what for so I can determine how much I should punish him."

Shadow tensed, her jaw clenching, her eyes unwavering. As Xander watched, her friend trembled, her hands tightening around her coffee cup. On impulse, Xander reached out, but the mere touch caused Shadow to flinch away.

"Shadow," she said softly. She didn't want her friend to be afraid of her; she wanted her to trust her. "What are you experiencing?" Mentally, she cursed herself, hearing the psychiatrist tone in her voice. Crane was a terrible influence; she had been around him too much.

Abruptly, one of Shadow's hands stretched out on the table. Her eyes shut, and she finally turned her head. "Xander," she breathed, pained.

"I'm here," Xander said, lightly placing her hand over Shadow's.

A minute passed. Xander gently rubbed her thumb over the back of her friend's hand, hoping she would pull out of the flashback. She knew the signs and grieved that it was her fault that Shadow suffered from a similar form of PTSD. She hoped Shadow would break through soon so she could know _what_ the Joker had done to her.

Shadow's hand finally closed, turning and catching Xander's fingers. Xander looked up. Her friend's eyes had opened and now rested on their clasped hands.

"He snapped," she said quietly. "To some degree, so did I." She inhaled slowly. "If what we had was love, it no longer exists, in neither him nor I." She shook her head. "Sorry, I sound like I'm speaking in riddles."

"Don't worry about it. Just say what you want to say." Shadow started swirling her coffee as if it was a wine glass. "Do you want to start at the beginning?" Xander asked. "Work your way up?"

Shadow exhaled slowly. "You know my reason for agreeing to go with him?"

"For the children's sake."

"Someone released them within a day or two. The Joker was furious and tried to keep it hidden from me. I left, but ended up returning."

"Why?" Xander asked.

"Because I had nowhere else to go."

Xander winced. "You could have come to me, kiddo."

"I couldn't burden you. You have legal status as Wayne's girlfriend." She glanced up and quickly added, "Not that you enjoy that much, obviously." Xander pushed her uprising anger and flashed her friend a gentle smile, relieved that her friend had some humor still, despite what she endured.

"I just existed near him," Shadow continued. She slid her finger along the rim of her mug. "Every chance he got, he pressured me to remember old conversations and how I felt about him. He was so convinced that all I needed to do was remember and everything would return to how it was." She shook her head. "I don't love him. I've known that for a good while. I resisted him constantly, denied his advances, and dealt with Harley whenever she accused me of stealing him."

"She's annoying," Xander commented, trying to help put her friend at ease.

"You're lucky you didn't have to deal with her twenty-four seven." A smile twitched at the corner of Shadow's mouth but died before it had a chance to live long. "He tried to take me."

"Bastard." Her anger slipped, and Shadow flinched, pulling her hand away. Immediately registering her mistake, Xander reached for Shadow's hand again, but her friend kept it away. "He didn't, did he?" she asked, hoping that talking would regain Shadow's trust.

"No. I wouldn't let him. No." Shadow took a shaky breath, and Xander leaned forward, the foreboding feeling growing stronger. "There was no love between us. The Joker and me. I don't know what I was thinking beyond the need for a place. Maybe..." She trailed off, her eyes falling to her coffee mug.

When she didn't speak for a few moments, Xander tapped once on the table. Shadow blinked, as if waking from a daydream, and then she gave a small apologetic smile. "I was just thinking. Maybe what he believes is love really isn't. I might have viewed it as love before too. It's not something I feel for him anymore, if I ever did. Whatever I feel for him..." She lowered her head. "It's not love. It's fear..."

Xander's heart skipped a beat. Ignoring all precaution, she tapped Shadow's hand, and her friend looked up as she drew her hand closer to her body. "I heard you correctly, right?" she asked. "It's not love, it's-."

"Fear," Shadow finished. "He's been using..." She hesitated, looking around the coffee shop consciously.

"The fear gas," Xander finished for her in a quiet voice. "I should have known."

"I don't know how long he's been using it," Shadow whispered. "I've lost all track of time. Memories come back, I live through them over and over again." She lifted her coffee to her lips, sipping, with her hand shaking. "He doesn't give me the antidote; he lets it run its course. I have so much in my system..." She licked her dry lips, raising her hand before her, showing Xander how much it trembled. "I can't sleep. I have constant flashbacks. My reality is so distorted I can hardly tell who is a friend and who isn't." She dropped her hand limply. "I'm sorry, Xander."

"It's not you who needs to apologize." Xander heard the coldness plainly in her own voice, feeling her insides freeze over. "I'm gonna kill him." Her friend flinched, reacting to the tone. "Is any of your stuff still at the Joker's hideout?"

Shadow shook her head. "I left everything at my apartment, and the police have that."

"No, I went in and snatched some of the important things." Xander stood, abandoning her coffee and a five dollar bill. "Go to my place. I will deal with him sooner than later."

Fear flashed in Shadow's eyes, and Xander placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about me. I'll be home soon. Lock the door and don't answer it for anyone." When Shadow shuddered, she added, "I'm not going to let him get you. Promise." She kissed Shadow's forehead and then left the cafe.

Seven minutes later, she stormed into Crane's underground Lab, slamming doors open carelessly as she proceeded toward his experiment room. "You are _screwed up_, Crane," she called out, releasing her rage into her voice. A scream cut through the air, and deep inside, she knew it was Bruce. "Give him the antidote; I'm taking him back," Xander said as she burst into the experiment room.

Crane's face fell once he recovered from her entrance. "Seriously?" he asked. "I'm still working on him.

"Your work is finished," Xander stated, snapping on the lights. Wayne shrieked again, struggling against his restraints. "Shut him up," she snarled. Crane hurried to do so, injecting a sedative into his neck. For a few more moments, Wayne continued to scream, but the sound grew weaker until finally he fell under into the drugged sleep.

Crane faced Xander, a displeased look on his face. "You know not to interrupt me while I'm with my patients," he said, coldly.

"And you know better than to supply the Joker with your fear gas," Xander snapped. She set a hand on the table, purposely avoiding touching Wayne's limp form. "Why?" she demanded.

"I don't answer to you."

"You will or I'll make it so you have to restart your research from scratch." He narrowed his eyes, clearly understanding the message. "Why did the Joker want the fear gas?"

"He said he'd help my research by trying it on his enemies and henchmen. He gets me more patients to work with, a decent variety of sane and insane. All he asked for, in return, was the use of my fear gas."

"Did he say _who_ he was using it on?"

"Enemies, he said."

Xander exhaled furiously. "You and I made a deal earlier. If you want to _keep_ that deal, do not supply the clown anymore." Crane opened his mouth to argue, but then, his face lost color as he made the connection. "By the way, I'm going back to my own place. _And_, I want the antidote."

Crane lifted a finger. "I need to check her."

"Why?" Xander demanded, her eyes flashing. "I just need the antidote."

"Depending on how he used it, how long, and without the antidote…" He hesitated.

"What?" she asked, her anger fading slowly, drowning in the overcoming fear. "Jon, what?"

"The antidote might not be enough, and could possibly make it worse." Her eyes widened. "Will you allow me to examine her?" Xander hesitated, biting her lip nervously. "I promised not to experiment on her, and as the clown used my gas on her, I am partially responsible for whatever her condition is. May I examine her?"

Xander knew that what he said was true. If she wanted to help Shadow, she would have to make a sacrifice, as dangerous as it was. "She'll be at my place," she said, softly. "But don't go in unless I'm there."

"Where are you going?" he asked as she headed for Wayne.

"I have to take him back," she said. "We don't need the police reporting him missing again."

"Call his butler, say he'll be crashing at your place."

"And then what? Leave him here for you to 'work' on?" Xander chuckled darkly. "If Shadow's situation is bad, or turns for the worse because of your fear gas…" She shook her head. "No. You will not touch Wayne until Shadow's taken care of."

Crane thought for a moment. "Fine. We'll bring him with us, Wayne waking up alone in my lab is a stupid idea. The fat oaf might break something. Shall I drive?" he asked.

"Hell no, not my car," she said. Then, she smiled. "You _can_, however, carry him out, like a gentleman."

"I'm not carrying him by myself," he protested.

"I carried him by myself down his front steps. I think you'll be just fine." She headed for the door.

"We could carry him together," Crane called after her. "Share the burden…"

She turned back. "This does not qualify as a date." A faint smile appeared on his face.

Xander called Alfred as she drove, giving him a quick rundown. "He had a little too much wine during dinner. He passed out on the couch. He'll be sleeping it off."

"Thank you for notifying me. Have a good night, Ms. Eccleston."

"Goodnight, Alfred." She hung up and checked her rearview mirror. "It would have been easier just to bring him home since your attention _will_ be on _Shadow_."

"Lighten up."

"_Excuse_ me? Don't make me pull this car over."

"If you do, Shadow won't get the attention she needs."

"You wouldn't _dare_."

"Only if you push me."

Xander made no reply, pressing the gas pedal to the floor.

The moment she opened her front door, Xander heard the abrupt movement of someone jumping behind the couch. Xander spotted Shadow standing stiffly by her bedroom door, her eyes wide and fixed upon her. From across the room, Xander couldn't see any sign of recognition in her friend's face. She left Crane supporting Wayne by himself as she gradually entered the living room.

"Shadow, it's okay," Xander said, approaching her slowly as Shadow backed away, her eyes wide, constantly moving from Xander, to Crane, to Wayne, and back. "Hey, it's me. Xander."

There was a heavy thud, and Xander glanced over at Crane. He had dropped Wayne on the floor and was reaching into his pocket. "Xander, get behind me," Crane said, firmly. She opened her mouth. "Don't question me." He pulled a syringe from his pocket.

"No, let me talk-."

"She's past that. She won't hear you." Crane moved forward, passing Xander. Shadow cringed, her eyes widening with each step he took. Xander followed, and as she drew closer, she saw that Shadow's eyes were dilated, the pupils engulfing her irises. Crane had paused for a moment, reading her movements, but as Xander reached out a hand to stop him, he lunged.

Shadow stepped back so Crane missed her, but he dropped and stabbed the syringe into her foot. Her reflexes kicked in, and Crane received her other foot in the face.

He moved away from her. She glared at him for a few moments and then lunged for his throat. Crane expected it and kicked her away before she even had a chance to catch him. She hit the bedroom door and staggered, momentarily stunned by the impact. It gave the contents of the syringe enough time to take effect. Swiftly, Xander jumped over her couch and caught Shadow's limp form before she hit the ground.

"What did you give her?" Xander demanded as she gently brought her friend to the floor.

"Sedative," Crane replied, "I had it ready for Wayne if he woke up, but…" He shrugged.

"But what?"

Crane motioned toward the unconscious Shadow. "You saw how violently she reacted. The fear gas has affected her mind; the prolonged exposure caused damage to her hypothalamus."

"The what?"

"Facial recognition part of the brain. I should have remained outside with Wayne to give her time to recognize you."

Xander brushed Shadow's hair out of her face. "The sedative won't react with the gas, would it?"

"No," Crane replied, "But I can tell you right now, just by looking, that the antidote will not cure her." Xander's gaze shot up as Crane brushed his nose, glancing at blood on his hand. "Ow," he said.

"Jon…you realize that you are not leaving this apartment until she's-."

"That might be a problem because all my research is back at the Lab," he said as he wandered over to where Wayne lay on the ground.

"Ask your goons to get whatever you need. I need you here to care for _her_."

Crane turned toward her, his nose bleeding freely, and might have said something, but he was interrupted by a violent knock on the door.

Immediately, both of them moved, Xander grabbing Shadow and Crane taking Wayne. They placed them in the bedroom, with Shadow on the bed, Wayne on the floor. After closing the door, Xander answered the door, cutting off the rapid knocking.

In all his majestic purple glory awaited the Joker.

The Joker stood in the doorway, his lean frame shaking with fury, his chest heaving, and his eyes aflame. "She's here, isn't she?" he asked, his voice low in a growl.

Xander resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. "No," she replied.

"Don't you even _think_ of lying to me," the Joker said, teeth clenched.

"She isn't," Crane said, coolly. "We've been here dealing with Wayne."

"Your face is bleeding," the clown pointed out, angrily. "Go deal with it while the grown-ups talk."

"Shut up, Joker," Xander snapped. "You're just pissed that Shadow wasn't at your beck and call. So piss off." Crane glared at the Joker but left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him.

"I want to search the apartment," the Joker growled.

"Go jump in a lake," Xander told him, shoving the door. His foot stopped it, and without a word, he thrust his shoulder heavily into it. Xander jumped back, narrowly missing having it slammed in her face. "Get out," she snarled, angrily.

"No," he growled in return. He moved to look around, but Xander stepped in his way. "Out of the way, Sniper."

"No."

"Let him search, Xander," Crane said, reappearing from the bedroom, holding a tissue to his nose. She whipped her head at him, her eyes wide in disbelief. "He's not going to leave until he's searched every corner, and if we don't let him search, he won't go so let him search."

Crane didn't reveal anything in his expression, and despite her panic, Xander looked the Joker in the eyes and said through clenched teeth, "Fine, do whatever you want."

She stormed over to the kitchen and brewed herself a cup of coffee. The Joker followed at her heels as if he thought she would lead him straight to Shadow. Xander ignored him and tried to tune out his slamming of the cabinets. She kicked him when he insisted on checking the ones behind her and migrated into the living room. He soon followed.

After a thorough search of the living room and entranceway, the Joker moved into the bedroom. Xander sipped at her coffee, waiting on the couch for him to finish, her heart in her throat. She glanced uneasily at the bedroom doorway many times as the seconds ticked by slowly, praying he wasn't handing Shadow over.

* * *

**Lordlink13:**


	36. Privileges

After a good five minutes, the Joker left the bedroom, furious, with Crane directly behind him.

"Where did you hide her?" he spat, throwing the question directly at Xander.

"Hide her? She hasn't _been_ here," Xander snapped, playing off the hope the Joker hadn't found her. "Now, you've searched the place. I'm sure Crane would appreciate it if you didn't interrupt his work again. I _personally_ would love it if you simply _left_."

The Joker opened his mouth, but Crane cut him off. "You have searched and found nothing," he said, calmly repeating Xander's words. "Search for her elsewhere. You'll probably have better luck."

The Joker was at a loss, Xander could tell. He looked around the apartment, checking to see if he missed anything, searching and hoping he'd catch sight of Shadow, but finally, after prolonging it for as long as he could, the Joker left, with a warning.

"If I find out you've been hiding her all this time."

Xander waved him off. Once he left, she dead bolted the door. "How?" Xander asked. Crane grinned, motioning for her to follow him. He took her to the bedroom and pointed at the window. "You sly bastard," Xander said, looking out onto the fire-escape.

"I knew you didn't want her found," he said.

"Oh, I could just kiss you." She punched his shoulder and then threw her arms around him, catching him off guard. Realizing what she had said and done, she quickly released him. "Best get her in quick," Xander said, climbing out and pushing Shadow into the room via the window.

Xander lifted Shadow so Crane could hook his arms under hers. Crane pulled her in and heaved her onto the bed next to Wayne whom he had placed there for the Joker's search.

"No, he should be out on the couch," Xander said, pointing at Wayne.

"I'll move him," Crane said, sighing. Xander grabbed Wayne's feet, and when Crane looked at her, she arched an eyebrow, daring him to ask. He shrugged carelessly and grabbed underneath his arms.

After they had relocated Wayne, Crane checked Shadow's vitals, with Xander hovering over his shoulder.

"So?" she asked once he was finished.

"What did she tell you?" he asked. "How did the Joker use my fear gas?"

Xander repeated what Shadow had told her earlier at the coffee shop, and Crane sighed.

"Of course he would abuse it. How she's not insane with that amount of the drug in her system…" Crane shook his head. "I think it'd be better if she wasn't awake while it's in her system."

"So keep her unconscious?"

He nodded. "A coma, basically. However, so I can keep an eye on her and the drug levels, I'll need her at my lab." He looked up at Xander, whose face was crestfallen.

"All right," she said, miserably.

"You're not fighting me?"

"How can I? According to the public, I'm Bruce Wayne's girlfriend. How would he react if he found her in the bedroom, connected to whatever machinery you needed for her?"

"Not that many machines."

"Still…" Xander looked down at the unconscious form of her best friend. "Honestly, I hate it, but tomorrow, go ahead and move her to your lab." She sighed, defeated. "I'll meet you there after I drop off Wayne."

The next morning, Xander sat on her countertop after helping Crane carry Shadow out to his henchmen's car, holding her coffee when Wayne woke up. "You really need to lose some weight, Wayne," she had commented when she had dragged his unconscious form into the bedroom and placed him in the bed like he had been there all night.

He wandered into the kitchen, rubbing his head, and started at the sight of her. "Morning," he greeted, recovering quickly.

She forced a smile. "Morning." She hoped her voice didn't sound too dead from her inability to sleep.

"You look exhausted."

"Neighbors were noisy last night." She shrugged carelessly. "I'll take a nap later." She barely sipped at her coffee, having no taste for it. "Your head okay?"

"I think I slept funny."

"You hit your head last night."

Wayne continued to rub his head, confused.

"It was all that wine at dinner," she told him. "Coffee?"

"Nah, how about we skip the coffee and go back to bed until later this morning?" He flashed her a disarming smile, which she unthinkingly responded to with a yawn. She set down her coffee, took his offered hand, and followed him into the bedroom.

She didn't want to be near him, but the hope for sleep was too tempting to resist. The moment her head hit the pillow, she was out, dead to the world. She couldn't even feel Wayne pull her close to him.

* * *

Xander jerked suddenly, her arm flailing and striking Wayne's chest. His grunt snapped her out of her dream, dragging her back to reality, back to Gotham City and the drama it held. Her heart pounding, she opened her eyes to center herself. An arm grabbed her around the waist, and she jumped, jerking away violently.

"Whoa, no need to attack me," Wayne chuckled, moving himself closer to her instead.

She rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes and reminding herself who she was and what she was working toward, using his heartbeat as the stabilizer.

"Sleep better?" he asked.

Without opening her eyes, she shrugged. She rested her hand near her head, and Wayne hissed, as if in pain. "What the hell?" she said, jerking up.

"Nothing," he said, climbing out of bed. "I just remembered I have a Board meeting at work."

"Oh, well, I have to be out-of-town for a week or so," she said. "I'll call you when I get back." She got up and began packing an overnight bag while Wayne cleaned up in the bathroom.

Xander insisted upon driving him to work, using the excuse that she wanted to spend as much time with him before she left. It won him over.

Once he was gone, the sweet façade vanished, and Xander sped her way to Crane's hideout. She found him in his bedroom, hovering over Shadow who occupied his mattress.

"Aww, I thought I was the only girl who slept in your bed, Jon," Xander teased, setting her bag to the side.

Without looking up, he replied, "I knew you'd insist that she was comfortable."

"And you thought of placing her in the bed? You know me so well."

He glanced over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow. "Let me guess. You're staying here too."

"You know it. Because I trust you with an unconscious Shadow. Ha. Good luck," Xander said, grinning. He frowned. "Cheer up, Jon. Hope you have a spare room ready." Crane nodded, telling one of his men to show her the way.

"Get settled and come back," he said, still checking Shadow's vitals. When she returned, he said, "That was quick. Obviously, you don't trust me with her."

Xander pulled a chair over, reversed it, and straddled it, resting her arms on the back. "Of course not," she said, smiling sweetly.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"The fake 'Wayne's girlfriend' face." He jotted something down in his small notebook and added, "I prefer the real Xander face."

Xander ignored Crane's comment and said, "So, Doc, am I allowed to ask advice?" She paused and began cleaning her nails. "See, there is this guy. He pisses me off, and I just can't shake him. He's one of those rich suits who owns most of Gotham. What should I do?"

Crane spun around and said, "Seriously."

She blinked her eyes at him and rested her head on her arms. "You're just pissed that he is a stuffed shirt who owns half of the town. Don't worry, Jon-y. One day, you too could own half of a fraction of the town." She winked and then closed her eyes, signaling that the conversation was now pointless.

"You. Wish." Xander grinned.

Shadow shifted on the bed, and Crane turned around to check on her.

"She's not awake, is she?" Xander asked, lifting her head.

"The sedative is wearing off." Crane stood and moved to the other side, bending down for something.

"Are you going to let her wake up to tell her?"

"No. Once the sedative is gone, I can put her under with a stronger one." He began to connect the wires, clamping one to her finger for the heart monitor.

"Did you break into a hospital for those?"

He didn't reply, which meant he did.

"I am fighting the slight impulse to hug you, Jon. You and your inability to not commit a crime for a day at a time."

He shrugged as he placed a breathing mask over Shadow's mouth and flicked on the machine. Shadow's eyelids fluttered as the oxygen rushed into her airways.

"Why not warn her?" Xander asked.

"Why bother?"

"She's used to having fear gas in her system. If she wakes up without it, she might still believe she has it."

"I figured you'd be here when she woke up so you could explain the situation. She trusts you, to a fault."

"It's only a fault when you backstab me." Crane looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow. "Anything I can do?" He shook his head and continued his work.

Xander rested her head again, watching Crane work. Her eyes drifted over Shadow, checking to ensure her best friend was still breathing, still asleep. Even though she was out of the Joker's grasp, Xander still worried. It was just the fear gas that made her like this.

Shadow had used the word 'fear' to describe how she felt about the Joker. Xander knew Shadow had never been afraid of him. What was he doing to her, besides the doses of fear gas, that had changed her feelings toward him so much?

"A quarter for your thoughts?" Xander shook her head. "May I guess then?" She shrugged. Crane returned to his seat, turning it to face her. "Thinking about Shadow?"

"How did you know?" she asked, sarcastically.

"The unblinking stare." He paused for a bit before asking, "Did you sleep?"

Xander shrugged. "Sleep, shleep. Don't really need it, especially since when is the last time you've slept?"

"Good point." Again, he paused. "Maybe you should go lie down. You don't look too well."

"I'm fine," she said.

Before Crane could say more, one of his henchmen appeared in the doorway. "Scarecrow, Joker's thug is here. Says he's here to check on the Shadow lady."

"She's not here," Xander said, but Crane spoke over her.

"What's his name?" Crane asked.

"Says it's Bleak." Xander stiffened. Rage and distrust boiled together at the mention of her half-brother's fake name.

"Bring him in." The henchman left, and Xander shot Crane a glare as she stood. Crane gave her a questioning look in return.

"I'm not letting him in here," she said stiffly as she matched out the room, closing the door behind her. She spotted the henchman returning with Dean, and she crossed her arms. "You can leave him here," she told the henchman. He looked like he wanted to protest, but she glared him down until he shut his mouth, nodded, and turned away.

Dean remained where he was standing, facing her. "You want to speak to me?" he asked.

"You're not allowed to see her."

"On whose authority?"

"Mine." Dean raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that I will trust you when you're the one who lost her in the first place?"

"I didn't _lose_ her," he argued.

"I beg to differ. You're the one who called me to see if I had her."

"And you didn't."

"Yet _you_ didn't know where she was. Therefore, _you_ lost her."

Dean ran a hair through his black hair. "Well, you obviously found her. Thank you."

"I'm not accepting thank yous from you. You still can't see her."

"Why?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

He shifted his weight, his brow furrowing as his frustration grew. "Xander, you're taking this too far. You know I hold no ill will toward Shadow."

"I don't care. She was your responsibility, to some degree."

He heaved an irritated sigh. "Is she okay, at least?"

"Safe, yes. Okay? Well, that's info that I'm _not_ going to share with you." She leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice as she said, "You lost your privileges when you lost her."

"You're one to talk. You're the one who convinced her to return to the raging psychopath."

Xander's anger flared. She dropped her arms and took a vicious step forward, preparing to rip him apart. A hand grabbed her arm, holding her back.

"She is safe," Crane said. "And she will be fine. She'll be well taken care of here where I can monitor her and ensure that she recovers." Dean bit his lower lip, reining in his anger. "I suggest that you leave. To ensure Shadow's safety, you'll have to sacrifice the want to see her." Dean's mouth opened in protest, but Crane spoke before him. "The Joker mustn't know this location; he's already searched Xander's apartment, and we barely managed to hide Shadow. We can't risk him finding her."

Dean worked his jaw, thinking over Crane's reasoning. Xander attempted to free her arm, but Crane's grip tightened slightly, holding her in place. "Can I at least see her?" Dean asked.

"No," Crane deadpanned. "The longer you remain here, the higher the chance the Joker will discover her whereabouts."

Dean chewed the inside of his cheek - a tick he gained from being around the Joker for too long - and then sighed, defeated. He nodded and turned his back, returning the way he had come. Xander stepped toward him, but Crane continued to hold her back until Dean had disappeared around the corner.

Finally, Crane's grip relaxed, and Xander jerked her arm away. "Who do you _think_ you are?" she demanded, eyes burning with rage.

"You're cute when you're angry."

Xander blinked. "Excuse me?" She shook her head. "What are you-?" She cut herself off, realizing how close he was standing. "Oh no..."

"No what?"

She stepped back. "Jon, get a hold of yourself and snap out of it. Whatever you're feeling or thinking, it's a delusion, one you need to break out of."

"You know you're having the same delusion," Crane said, seriously. "It's not just me."

"Delusion of…" Xander stopped, her eyes widening. "Oh no, we are _not_ talking about this. We can _not_ be talking about this. Definitely not with everything going on..." She raised her hands toward her head, but Crane grabbed them, refusing to allow them to reach their destination.

Xander lowered her eyes to the floor, trying to step away from him, but he wasn't going to let her escape.

"Xander," he said softly, and she rapidly shook her head, her tongue suddenly tied. "Hey, look at me." Again, she shook her head, refusing to look. He released one of her hands to cup her chin. The touch caused her to flinch away, but he reached again, tilting her head back so she could look at him.

She had closed her eyes.

"Hey, open your eyes."

"No," she whispered.

"Please?"

"No," she repeated. She felt his lips softly touch hers.

"Please show me your eyes."

"Damnit, no." His mouth met hers again, this time holding longer.

"I want to see your beautiful eyes."

"Damnit, Jon, don't compliment me," Xander said heatedly, opening her eyes. She stopped, caught by his blue eyes. "Damn…" she breathed.

"Damn is right," he agreed.

In a flash, they met one another a third time, wrapping their arms around each other. They separated for air and then clashed again, becoming lost in one another. When they parted, Xander grabbed Crane's hand and led him toward the other bedroom.

"And to think I've been jealous of Wayne all this time," Crane breathed excitedly.

"He's the last person you'll ever need to be jealous of," Xander told him as she dragged him into the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Crane knew she was asleep by her slow, even breathing. He watched her for a few moments, her back rising and falling. Her hand slid across his chest until it rested beside her head, which made him smile.

He looked about the room, wondering what her reaction to it had been when she first saw it. It must be too plain for her taste, no pictures, plants, or décor. Just a plain room with a queen-sized bed, a small table, a chair, and a wooden trunk. The trunk's lid was open, just enough to see her backpack was stuffed inside. Crane thought about how he might improve the room to make it more accommodating. Then, his thoughts switched as Xander's hand curled into a fist and uncurled.

'What the hell was she dreaming about.' He cursed the thought that she could have been thinking about Bruce Wayne, no way in hell would he allow that. He was always calm, cool, and collected, but Wayne had everything, always had, born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

But then he remembered what they had done to finally consummate their relationship.

Crane shook his head, tossing his negative thoughts of Wayne aside, and watched Xander sleep. She wore a slight frown, with her eyebrows furrowed. He wondered again about what or who she was dreaming about. He hoped desperately it was him.

Xander stiffened, her hand clenching tightly. She remained like that for a few moments, and when Crane gently stroked her cheek, she relaxed with a sigh, exhaling one word. _Jon._

With a smile, Crane slipped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. Resting his chin atop her head, he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her.


	37. Choices Made

The Stacked Deck was filled with life and energy, crowded inside with a line hanging around outside, hoping to get in and join the party. It was loud. Music vibrated through the floor and the tables. Poker chips clicked against a pile of them, some bouncing off beer bottles. The sound of card shuffling and the passing of the cards. Everyone's chatter, people yelling to be heard over the music.

He heard it all and much more.

He sat by himself with his back against the wall, his hand clasped around a full beer bottle, the cap still on. Even though it was crowded, there was space around him, like no one wanted to be near him. It could have been because he occasionally muttered to himself, but he was isolated and he liked it that way.

He would have enjoyed it further if his partner wasn't so quiet.

Hunter usually longed for the moments he could have his mind to himself, but whenever it lasted longer than a few minutes, it unnerved him. Peter was with him, always, he knew that, but when his partner went silent, the world around him rang a strange tune that he did not understand. He needed Peter, but his partner had been silent for over two days.

Hunter wanted to move on with the Plan. The Thief had lived with the Boss for too long, he believed; even a second with the Boss was too long. Hunter wanted the Thief gone, removed from not only the Boss's side but also from the face of the world.

"_No, our moment will come."_ Hunter startled at Peter's voice, but he felt his partner withdraw back into the depth of his mind. His hand clenched the beer bottle in frustration.

Why must Peter torment him like this?

He didn't have time to ponder it further as a stranger pulled up a chair and sat down across from him. "Get lost," he said automatically.

"Is that how you greet friends?" a disarming voice asked.

Hunter lifted his angry gaze, hiding it in the process, and glared at the man. After a moment, he smiled inwardly, but his face remained emotionless. "I recognize you from the news. You're the infamous Detective Tew, the man chasing down former detective Jane McKinley."

Tew flashed him a charming smile. "This city's press works well exposing cops, like myself."

Something about the detective set Hunter on edge. Perhaps it was his good looks. The sharp jaw and the slick black hair defined his uncanny nature. The brown trenchcoat was a sad attempt to be like the detectives in television shows and was certainly too expensive for a detective's wage. Tew's dark green eyes betrayed nothing of his real intention, and his smile, as charming as it was, held no hypnotic control over Hunter.

"What are you doing here?" Hunter asked, gruffly.

"I came looking for you."

"And what do you want with me?"

Tew's grin grew. "We can help each other," he said, cunningly. "Do you want another beer?"

Hunter looked down and saw how obvious it was that hadn't drunk any of his current beer. "No. Are you stupid or something? And I don't accept help from cops."

"You'll accept it from me or I'll take you back to the asylum." A pair of handcuffs clattered on the table between them. Hunter raised his gaze from the metal cuffs, loathing the man already.

"_Listen to what he has to say,"_ Peter whispered.

"Why?" Hunter asked Peter, but Tew thought he was asking him.

"You're registered as an escaped patient from Arkham Asylum," the detective replied coolly. "I'm sure they would be _happy_ to have you safely returned."

"_I'm sure they would," _Peter replied sarcastically. _"He may be of some use to us."_

Convinced he had Hunter's attention, Tew stood up and disappeared into the crowd, only to return with a hundred dollar bottle of scotch. "We have a common enemy, of sorts," he began as he sat himself down again.

Hunter inwardly rolled his eyes but held his uncaring expression, his eyes boring into the detective's face.

"Shadow," Tew verified upon seeing no reaction from Hunter. "Joker's puppet master."

Violently, Hunter slammed down his bottle of beer, smashing it and cutting up his hand. Bystanders moved tables, placing more distance between themselves and him. "No one controls the Joker," he growled.

"_Control yourself,"_ Peter ordered. Hunter reined in his rage with difficulty, his hand still clenching several pieces of glass. He felt a wet warmth, but he registered no pain.

Tew merely smiled at his reaction. "You want her," he stated plainly, "And I want Sniper. Our common enemy - enemies - need to take their medicine." He paused, giving it a moment to sink in more and then asked, "Will you help me get rid of Shadow and catch the Sniper?"

"No," Hunter said, simply. He didn't like the vibes he was receiving from this man; he was sly, distrustful.

"Very well, but you may want to reconsider. Here is my number. Remember, with Shadow out of the way, you'll have the Joker all to yourself." Tew stood, bottle of scotch in hand, and his card on the table. "Have a nice evening, Mr. Sullivan. And when you go to bed, remember, don't let Shadow bite." He winked and wandered back into the crowd, disappearing from sight.

It took a few moments for Hunter to relax after the sly detective had left. His hand was bleeding freely from several cuts. The pieces of glass clattered onto the table top, stained red, and casually, he swiped them off with his free hand. He stood, intending to leave the sly detective's card.

"_Grab it,"_ Peter snarled at him. _"Just in case."_

Hunter bit back a retort, swiping up the card and shoving it into his pocket. He retreated into the bathroom, cleaning his cuts and then wrapping his hand up, using the first aid kit provided. When he returned, a group of poker players had already taken his table. Anger surged through him, but Peter told him strictly to keep himself in line.

Frustrated, Hunter realized how parched he was. He moved to the bar, taking a free barstool. "Glass of scotch, on the rocks," he told the bartender. While he waited, he glanced over to see three men enter the Stacked Deck. It didn't register quickly, but as they seated themselves at the bar, Hunter recognized them as the Boss's current henchmen.

"So glad to have time off," one man said as he waved for the bartender's attention.

"Yeah, and to not have to listen to Harley's obnoxious voice," another perked up.

The bartender handed Hunter his glass before proceeding down to the waiting men. Hunter swirled his glass for a few moments, convinced he was wasting his time and attention with the three goons. He didn't pity them. The Jester would have been taken care of if the Thief hadn't rescued her.

His wounded hand clenched, causing his cuts to start bleeding again. The Thief _always_ knew what he was going. How could she possibly have known that the annoying Jester was his target?

"The boss is _pissed_." Hunter jerked back to attention, jostling his scotch.

"How do you know?" the second man asked.

"Are you stupid?" the first asked. "Haven't you heard Harley howling like a wounded dog just about every night from 10 to 6 in the morning? It's a wonder she isn't dead from sleep deprivation."

"It's no better than that Shadow chick's screams."

Hunter couldn't swallow. His blood ran cold, and his hand shook from the strain of getting his anger in check. The Thief had _so_ much control over the Boss. He had to save the Boss from her evil clutches.

"What do you think he's doing to her?" the second man asked. "It sounds like he's killing her."

"Torturing her, I guess. He's definitely not using her for the same thing as Harley. He's pretty loud too."

"You can't hear him yelling?"

The third boxed the second's ear. "It's not _that_ kind of yelling, moron."

The second shot him a glare as he rubbed his ear. "But why's he torturing her?"

"Maybe she wasn't putting out," the first suggested. "I'd be upset too."

"But he hasn't been this upset since a few days ago. I saw him today; he looked like he was ready to kill the first person he spotted."

"Is she still not putting out?"

"It isn't that she's not putting out; she's gone," the third man said quietly, causing Hunter to move a couple inches closer. "The Shadow chick _escaped_."

"Nobody escapes the boss," the first man said.

"Well, she did, and supposedly she went to some Sniper chick. You know, the Sniper who killed forty-seven people in a couple of hours weeks back?"

"I wouldn't want to cross her."

"Me neither." The third man received a shot, and he inhaled it. "Joker's been beating Harley, and she's too stupid to leave. But the other chick is out, and Joker wants her found. Whatever he was doing, he doesn't think she's had enough."

Throughout the conversation, Hunter had been listening to every word, sipping his scotch and grimacing at the taste. Now, he had heard enough to know that his first thought when he heard about the Thief's screams was incorrect; the Boss was torturing her. A wave of relief had coursed through him at the thought.

The Boss was fighting back. And that wasn't the only piece of good news.

Hunter gulped the rest of his drink, resisting the urge to spit it back into the glass, and left some money on the bar. He stood up and left the three henchmen gossiping behind him. He had yet another chance to get the Thief, and no doubt the Boss would welcome him back with open arms once he had been released from her binding spell.

"_And we can use Tew."_

Hunter frowned. He was completely against it, but he wouldn't dare question Peter. Peter was the planner; he knew what to do. Hunter pulled out Tew's card from his pocket. He didn't know how Peter meant to use him, but he didn't have to worry. His partner planned out everything, and all he had to do was obey.

It was time to call Tew.

* * *

Dean knew he was dreaming. Memories constantly pervaded his dreams, drowning him with emotions from his past. He rarely ventured into proper dreams ever since he was thirteen. Instead, his mind plagued him, mostly with what some would consider nightmares if they weren't memories.

_The banging had summoned him from his room. He stood a few steps from the heavy door that led into the gas chamber._

"_Someone, please!" It was Shadow's voice. He heard the panic and fear clearly and leapt toward the door, pulling on the handle._

"_Hang in there, Shadow," he called to her. His muscles strained against the weight of the door, but he managed to pry it open._

_The fear gas hadn't quite cleared from the chamber. Shadow emerged from it, coughing and choking on it and the rush of fresher air. She collapsed on her hands and knees, overcome with a coughing fit. He held his breath as he threw his shoulder into the door, slamming it and enclosing the fear gas inside._

_He immediately dropped to Shadow's side, embracing her shaking form. "It's okay," he said gently. "You're out. You're safe."_

_He knew his words wouldn't penetrate the fogginess of the gas in Shadow's mind, but he understood that the sound of his voice would reach her. She continued to shake in his arms, but she didn't pull away like she used to. She had made it a habit to keep her eyes closed during the ordeal of the gas chamber; her senses lied to her when Scarecrow's gas infected her mind. He wasn't always in time to get her out of the chamber, but when he came, she always knew it was him. He never knew how._

_The other door burst open, slamming against the cement wall. Shadow stiffened at the sound, and he held her tighter as he glanced over his shoulder._

_The Joker stood in the doorway, his eyes blazing when he spotted him with Shadow. "Bleak, what are you doing here?" he demanded angrily._

"_Saving her," he replied plainly._

_A dark chuckle escaped the Joker's mouth, and his tongue snaked out. "She's already being saved."_

"_By me, yes." The Joker's face darkened. He didn't give the clown a chance to respond, his anger surging forward. "If you think this is the best way to bring her memories back, then you're sick."_

"_Sick, am I?" The purple-clad clown stepped forward menacingly. "No, I'm not trying to bring back her memories; I'm trying to fix her de-_lu_-sions."_

"_Delusions?" he repeated, unbelieving._

"_Yes, Bleak, delusions." The Joker's voice sharpened. "Release her and get out."_

_He did release her but not so that he would leave. Instead, he stood and purposely positioned himself between Shadow and the Joker, blocking her from the clown's view. "You will not harm her anymore," Dean said boldly. "You want to even _speak_ to her, you have to go through me."_

_The Joker's scarred lips curved into his infamous Glasgow smile. "See if you can stop me," he dared and stepped forward._

_Dean swung, his fist connecting with the Joker's jaw._

_The Joker's head snapped to the side, nearly throwing him off balance. Instead of a grunt, a giggle escaped his scarred mouth. He laughed, straightening and cracking his neck. "Is that the best you're got-tah, Bleak?" he taunted._

_Without hesitation, Dean swung his other fist, slamming it into the Joker's cheek. The clown lost his balance, turning and hitting a counter that lined the side room. He didn't stop laughing, simply letting it loose. Slightly unnerved by the laughter, Dean stepped back._

"_That was better," the Joker giggled excitedly. "...my turn!" In a flash, his fist slammed into Dean's jaw._

_Pain burst through his head as he staggered unsteadily to the side, tripping over his feet and ramming into the counter head first. He winced and scrambled to his feet, but the Joker leaped over and kicked him solidly in the stomach. The air rushed out of him, and he collapsed, arm wrapped over his aching stomach._

_Mercilessly, the Joker grabbed a handful of hair and yanked his head back. "You're usually so o_-be_-dient, Bleak," he said. "Maybe you just need a little reminder of who's the boss." His free hand slammed into Dean's face, knocking him down to the floor. "Or maybe you want to fight over _her_." The Joker pointed at Shadow, who cowered in the corner._

_Dean lifted himself to his hands and knees, glancing at her. A lump formed in his throat at the sight of her. She had been so strong before. Using the fear gas on her stripped her of her relationality, of her confidence, and of her identity. Reminding himself that it was the Joker who had done this to her, Dean roughly pushed himself to his feet, staggering slightly as he turned to face the clown._

_The clown giggled as he leaped forward, punching Dean once again, bringing him straight back to the floor. His lean frame bursting with energy, the Joker kicked him and then crouched over him, clicking open his switchblade._

"_Stop." Dean looked up, as did the Joker, at the cowering form. Shadow swallowed with difficulty but repeated her order. "Stop."_

_Dean heard a rumble in the Joker's throat as the clown considered what to say. "Who are you telling to stop?" the Joker asked, his voice low, warning Shadow of the danger that awaited her._

"_You," she said simply. Her voice sounded stronger, but the effect broke as she was overcome by another coughing fit._

_The Joker straightened and took a step closer to her. Dean grabbed his ankle, intending to stop him, but the purple-clad clown swiftly turned, smashing his free foot into Dean's face, nearly knocking him unconscious. Blood burst from his nose, and his vision darkened. Dean struggled to remain conscious, fighting through the pain. The Joker spoke to Shadow, and she whimpered. Silence followed, and then, Dean heard Shadow's scream but could not hold consciousness..._

Dean bolted to a sitting position. He was covered in sweat, and his breathing came in labored, as if he had truly been fighting the Joker. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he swung his legs over the edge of his mattress, registering again that it had been a memory.

His body shook. He could still hear Shadow's scream in the back of his mind, and it unnerved him because he didn't know what the Joker had done to her. The next time he saw her after that, she was covered in bruises and was violently trying to tear her hair out.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a rapid knocking sounded on his door. "What?" he asked.

"Boss wants to see you."

Dean rolled his eyes. The Joker had the worst timing - or perhaps he considered it the 'best' timing. Dean changed his sweat soaked shirt and splashed cold water over his face, working the panic out of his system before he went to meet with the Joker.

The room was dark when Dean entered. The light behind him illuminated the doorway and revealed the Joker sitting on a moth-eaten chair, watching him.

"So-ah, you draw her out of hiding yet?" the Joker asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Not yet," he said, closing the door behind him. He knew it was dangerous, but he also knew that it would set the Joker at ease. "Sniper knows how to hide things well, besides it shouldn't be hard to find her and follow her to Shadow, unless-."

"Unless what?"

"Unless," Dean continued, "Sniper also goes into hiding, leaving no trace." He said this much quieter than his first statement, knowing that Xander was now under Scarecrow's protection.

"You know where she is."

Dean smirked. "Nice shot in the dark, but you missed."

"I don't-_tah_ miss, and you know that all too well. Tell me where she went."

"I do know you well," Dean said, "But this time, you missed." A click echoed in the room.

"You wouldn't have come back unless you found her," the Joker said, his voice piercing through the dark.

"Or if I found her, I wouldn't have come back."

The Joker was quiet for a few moments, and after awhile, his lean frame rose from the chair. "Where do your loyalties lie?"

"That's an odd question."

"Not under the circumstances." The dark silhouette of an arm jerked to the side. "Have a seat, Bleak. Make yourself comfortable."

"I'm quite content."

"_Sit_, Bleak." The Joker's tone had sharpened, and Dean knew better than to disobey. He walked over to the couch, navigating well through the dark and purposefully plopped himself down. The Joker's silhouette moved and pushed the table closer to the couch before setting his foot on it, leaning forward.

"You wouldn't come back _if_ you found her." Dean heard the question in the Joker's voice, even though he knew that he was merely verifying what he had said.

"I'd have to keep her from running, wouldn't I?" Dean said. "Besides, she's more dangerous now."

"Are you saying she's too much for you to handle?" The Joker's head shook. "No, don't answer that. She's always been too much for you. I question your loyalty."

"I've been loyal since-."

"Loyal to a fault…until now." The Joker cocked his head. "Since Shadow's arrived here-."

"Don't bring her into this."

A click sounded directly in front of him. "You have three chances left," the Joker said, the grin resonating in his voice.

Dean wetted his lips, a gesture the Joker couldn't see. "Russian Roulette? I didn't think that was your style."

"I decided to do something…different." He leaned forward, his face looming close to Dean's. "We've got something to settle."

Dean scoffed. "This is about my arguing with your abusing Shadow."

"It's not abuse; it's _fixing_, or healing if you'd like."

"It's abuse," Dean argued. "You used Scarecrow's fear gas on her constantly, and never cured her so that she had a break from her terrors."

"Memories aren't the same as terrors."

"You don't understand."

The Joker's silhouette stiffened, and for a moment, he was silent. Then, very slowly, he stepped up onto the table, set his feet on the ground one-by-one, and then settled himself before Dean. His head cocked to the side, and his shoulders moved slightly, as if he was doing something with his hands.

"I don't-tah under-_stand_," he repeated. "I've been through Hell and back. These scars are not fake, and they are not the only ones. Tell me, Bleak. What exactly is it that I don't understand?"

Dean inhaled slowly, choosing his words. "Boss, it is not my place to ask about you, but it _is_ my place to say that you do not understand Shadow."

"How is it your place?" The Joker's voice dropped, low and dark.

Dean licked his lips quickly. "None of your business," he said, and a third click echoed in the darkness. "Just waiting for the real bullet, aren't you? I bet you've wanted to kill me for a long time."

"Actually, no. You're fun to keep around, and you're a decent right-hand man." The Joker pushed his hair back with a hand. "Though, there always comes a time when a new group of men should come in."

"You want a reason to replace me."

"I want Shadow's _location_," the Joker growled.

"I'm not telling."

"And you admit to knowing."

"I trust that you have a strong hunch that I know." A soft chuckle emanated from the Joker. "That, and if you kill me, you won't get her location."

"So you're _taunt_-ing me." Another chuckle escaped the Clown Prince of Crime. "I'll find her, with or without you."

"You're _obsessed_," Dean spat, his calm evaporating. The Joker sounded confident, like he knew he would find Shadow. Dean's underlying fear for her safety bubbled to the surface, along with the anger and hatred toward his boss. "You're _obsessed_," he repeated.

"I'm not."

"Like hell, you're not." He moved to stand, but the Joker shoved him back down. "Touch me again."

"You're not in a position to be making threats," the Joker said, calmly. "And if you want any chance at leaving this room alive…" He moved the gun, allowing it to rub against his leather glove.

Dean inhaled sharply through his nose and then leaned forward. The Joker didn't move, almost ignoring how little space there was between them. "You know what I think," he began.

"I don't care about what you think."

"Of course not, you're the man in charge, and you don't have to listen to me. But, I think you'll listen to this." Dean moved closer so he was almost face-to-face with the Joker. "Since Shadow has been within your grasp, you've been pushing her to bend to your will. You think it's been helping her, forcing her to face her fears and her memories. I don't know what else you've done to her, but you've done nothing but _hurt _her. Trust me, as what may be my last words, you've lost Shadow."

The Joker paused, staring back at Dean with vacant eyes. He was speechless, Dean guessed, a guess that wasn't far off the mark. He sensed that now was a good time to leave so he stood, and when he didn't see the Joker react, he headed for the door. His hand touched the doorknob, and the fourth click echoed across the room.

He opened the door, and as he stepped outside, the gun fired. Dean fell out into the hall, yanking the door closed behind him. Pain shot through his leg as he put weight on it, and groaning, he leaned across the wall for support.

The Joker had shot him, but not to kill, only to hurt. The thought flashed through Dean's mind multiple times as he focused on ignoring the pain. He shuffled along the wall, trying to place as much distance between him and his boss; if the Joker changed his mind, he had no chance of outrunning him.

Dean managed to get to his room and bandaged his leg. Testing his leg, he groaned with agony, but he had to set it out of his mind.

Whether or not the Joker came after him, Dean's foremost thought was of protecting Shadow, not himself, although he had said what he needed to say to his boss. Having spoken his mind, he felt content to leave and never return. His duty as the Joker's right-hand man was finished. He had someone else to take care of now.

In the lobby, Scout raced at him, barking excitedly as she traced circles around him. "Down, Scout," he ordered, and the Rottweiler slowed to a stop, cocking her head and perking up her ears as if confused by the order. She padded over and sniffed his leg, whining sympathetically.

"I'm okay, girl. It's all right." He reached down and scratched her ears before taking her by the collar. "He doesn't deserve you either." Dean left with Scout, whistling loudly for Prince.

The Joker would lose three essential pieces to his gang, and knowing that he was reason for that loss, Dean felt himself glow as he left the hideout, headed for Scarecrow's warehouse.

Little did he know that someone spotted him and after a moment followed him from the shadows.


	38. Victim and Instigator

Xander woke up slowly, sleep had left her dazed. When all her senses returned, with the numbness of sleep cast off, she noticed a pressure on her rump.

"Jon. Jon," Xander called, trying to wake him up. He rolled in closer, mumbling something. "Jon, you need to move your hand. It's on my ass."

Half asleep, he mumbled, "You mind? I'm enjoying the moment."

"Son of a bitch," she breathed.

He chuckled. "How was it? I never got to ask you." Xander punched him before quickly climbing out of bed. "No, no, come back, you smell nice." She rolled her eyes as she gathered her clothes off the floor. "Was it that bad?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Not dignifying that with a response," she told him. "I don't want you to go all psychiatrist on my response."

"I won't. It's a yes or no question."

"But each response leads into another question, such as 'How do you feel about that?'"

Crane shook his head. "Only amatuer pyschiatrists ask that question."

Xander paused in pulling on her shirt, unable to resist smiling fondly. "Don't you have someone to gas?" she asked as she finished dressing.

He arched an eyebrow. "Is that an invitation?"

"If it is, expect a couple rounds in your chest soon after. I don't make a good paranoid," Xander said, shoving her finger in his chest, trying to drive home the shooting bit.

He merely chuckled and pulled her in. She protested and fought against him, but his grip was strong for a scrawny guy.

She looked at him, shooting him a look. "Let. Go," she said, through clenched teeth, straining to get away from him.

Crane smiled. "No," he said coolly and then kissed her. Immediately, she stilled as if swooning under his cast spell. "Whoa, I didn't know I had that effect on you," he laughed.

"No, you don't." He looked down at her, only to receive a heavy punch to the face. Xander broke free of his grasp and jumped off the bed, fleeing into the hallway and slamming the door shut.

She turned her back to the door and leaned heavily against it, her fingers touching her lips. A slight blush rose in her cheeks as she remembered hours previously. "Oh, I _hate_ him."

"May I come out?" Crane asked through the door.

"Are you going to play nice?" she asked. "Not beat up kids in the schoolyard."

"I think I can rightfully say that it's not me we have to worry about seeing as you're the one who punched me."

"Your point is?"

"I get punished for being the victim?"

"Life isn't fair. Deal with it."

He was quiet for a moment and then said, "The bed's nice and warm. Still smells like you."

Xander threw her hands in the air, heaving an exasperated sigh. "I just can't win," she exclaimed, walking away from the door, but she said it with a smile.

Shadow hadn't changed. Xander pulled up a chair and sat down wearily, reaching out a hand and rubbing her thumb over her friend's knuckles. She listened to the constant heart monitor, beeping away in the otherwise quiet room. Shadow's chest rose and fell in an even rhythmic. After a few moments, Xander shook herself, fighting against the exhaustion that threatened to take her.

Despite having slept, she hadn't rested, her concern for Shadow penetrating her dreams. She knew the effects of the fear gas very well; she had spent weeks with Crane and knew the danger.

Xander withdrew her hand and rubbed her temples, trying to ease the headache that was beginning to emerge. She glanced over at Shadow, who continued to breathe and remain motionless. "I envy you," she said quietly to her unconscious friend.

"You envy her being drugged?"

"Shut up, Jon." Xander grinned, refusing to look at him. "You headed out?"

"How'd you know?" he asked, teasingly.

"You're kind of muffled. Blame your mask." Xander turned and rested an arm on the back of her chair. "Testing or actual crime?"

"Guess." Xander arched an eyebrow. He sighed and said, "Testing…with a bit of actual crime."

"That's my man."

He laughed. "Does your 'man' get something for a goodbye?"

"Seriously? Do you really have to ask?" She stood and approached him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You'll have to take the mask off," she told him.

Crane swiped it off and kissed her. "Don't wait up," he said as he replaced his mask.

"You know I will."

"Not too late."

"A-ha, you're funny."

After he left, Xander returned to her seat, rubbing her thighs with her hands. She soon found herself nodding off, and to ward it away, she stood and paced about the room. She knew her restlessness was because of her inability to help Shadow further. Sitting and hoping that her friend would emerge safely from the induced coma was mental and emotional torment.

Xander sat down again and dropped her face into her hands. Concentrating on her breathing, she fell into unconsciousness, only to be awoken by barks.

"Jon doesn't have dogs," she muttered to herself, quickly rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She stood and wandered toward the doorway, peeking out and listening as the barking grew louder, followed by a commanding voice.

She spotted movement on the stairwell, and a Rottweiler leaped out into the hall, nose sniffing the air. A second one followed it, stopping beside it, and began smelling the ground. Xander narrowed her eyes, recognizing the man who followed the two dogs.

She stepped out into the hall and closed the door to Shadow. The clicking sound attracted the dogs' attention, and they issued low warning growls. Dean gave sharp whistle, and the dogs quieted but watched Xander.

"She's in there?" Dean asked as he stepped around the Rottweilers.

"You don't listen, do you?" Xander asked in return. "What does 'keep your distance' mean?"

"There's no risk in me being here."

"Did you not hear what Scarecrow said?"

"He never said that I couldn't be here if I _wasn't_ the Joker's right-hand."

Xander paused, catching what he said. "The Joker fired you?"

"In a sense. He tried to kill me. I left." Xander glanced down, noticing how Dean favored his right leg. "And nobody followed me here."

"You still shouldn't be here. Particularly with pets."

"These _pets_ are Shadow's." Xander arched an eyebrow. Dean gave her a small smirk. "Obviously she never told you that she technically owned dogs." One of the Rottweilers had slowly approached Xander, sniffing the air tentatively. The dog hesitated and then whimpered, lifting its head.

"What's it want?" Xander asked, and then realized that it was a she.

"She can smell Shadow on you." Dean used this moment to move closer to the room. The second dog followed at his side. "Her name's Scout."

The name rung a bell. Xander dropped a hand, and the Rottweiler sniffed it before eagerly nuzzling it. "Don't think that her being adorable is going to get you access to Shadow," Xander said without raising her gaze from the dog.

"I want to see her."

"And that's not going to give you access."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't trust you," Xander snapped, meeting his gaze.

He blinked. "Do you trust Shadow?" Xander frowned; she knew where he was going. "Well, do you?"

"I trust her, not you."

"She trusts me."

"She's not _conscious_ right now so I call the shots."

Suspicion lit in his eyes. "What do you mean she's not conscious?"

"Simply that."

His eyes darkened. "What did you _do_ to her?" he demanded.

"_Put. Her. To. Sleep,_" Xander said, emphasizing each word. "That's all."

"You didn't use the antidote?"

"The Joker pumped so much into her that the antidote would only do more harm. Chill out." Xander's blood boiled as she tried to control her own panic. "I don't like it either, but you don't see me getting all worked up about it."

Dean exhaled slowly, in an attempt to regain his composure. "So you're letting it run its course," he said. "You do realize that it still hurts her when she's asleep."

"Terrors, I know," Xander said. "Before she became hysterical, she did tell me some."

"Not enough, obviously."

Xander's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" Dean's stare didn't soften, his lips tightly clamped shut. "Don't tempt me, I will shoot you in the other leg."

He stiffened. "You weren't there so you wouldn't know."

"So, tell me or I will shoot." Xander produced an automatic Slavic pistol. "Trust me, this will sting more than an iti-biti revolver."

"How did you know?" he accused.

"He stole the weapon from me the other night when he came looking for Shadow. I know my weapons."

Dean wetted his lips quickly. "Put the gun away," he said. "You don't need to threaten me." Xander didn't move. He heaved a weary sigh and asked, "Can we at least sit down? Scout and Prince missed her."

Xander glanced at the two Rottweilers who were whimpering at the door, Scout pawing at it with a pleading look. She sighed and opened it, to which both dogs barked at her, as if to thank her before they bounded inside and raised up on their back legs to see Shadow clearer.

Xander moved out of the way, allowed Dean to enter. She heard his sharp intake of breath at the sight of Shadow unconscious and attached to a breathing mask. She probed his back with a finger, and he limped over to the opposite side of the bed, pulling up a chair. As he sat down, he said, "You can have my only escape route." He gestured to the door.

"As if you had a choice," Xander scoffed. She returned to her chair and gestured for him to speak, merely placing her Slavic pistol on her lap.

"Before I begin, did Shadow tell you the Joker's reason for doing what he did?"

"He wanted her back."

"Partly. The Joker says she'll delusional."

"Says the man whose second home is Arkham Asylum." Xander shook her head. "Delusional, how?"

"She's living the delusion that she doesn't love him and that she's a detective."

"But she _is_," Xander insisted.

"I know that. You know that. He doesn't believe it." Dean ran a hand through his black hair, brushing it out of his eyes. "It's been going on for weeks. He hardly ever gave her time in between visits where he would ask her if she loved him. When she answered no, he would restrain her in the gas chamber and use the fear gas." He exhaled a shaky breath. "She's scream and beg for him to let her out, thrashing against her restraints and screaming like someone was poking her with a hot iron."

"And you sat there and _watched_?"

Dean shook his head. "No, this is what she told me after the first week. I thought the worst he did was lock her up in a cell so I would come by and visit her with food. He started out slow, I guess, because after the first week, she wouldn't let me near her. She couldn't tell that I was a friend. Day after day, she only became worse as the Joker upped the dosage.

"Eventually, I discovered when and where he did it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get her out until the Joker thought her 'treatment' was over. Then, she started breaking her restraints, using the strength her ability gives her. The Joker didn't always watch her while she was in the chamber so I was able to unlock the door and get her out earlier.

"At first, she was convinced that it was him who was waiting for her so she would remain inside the room. The gas started choking her. She had to get out so I would hold my breath and drag her out. She made the connection after the third time that I wasn't the Joker because he would have left her in there."

"So she had someone to trust," Xander said quietly, unconsciously tracing her pistol with a finger.

Dean nodded. "But it was never to remain the same. Her temporary safety with me would end. The Joker came down earlier than usual and caught me while I was trying to comfort her. He warned me to leave, but I refused and fought him." Dean dropped his gaze to his unsteady hands. "He's always been stronger than me. I couldn't hold him off for long. I couldn't protect her from him; I lost consciousness. I don't know what he did to her, but the last thing I heard was her..." He broke off as his voice cracked with a muffled sob.

Xander's eyes dropped, her hands shaking. It was the same; it was occurring all over again. Dean held the same guilt Shadow did; he had been unable to save her like she had been unable to save Xander. Xander's breath caught in her throat as she realized that Shadow had become both parts, the victim and the instigator.

"She kept asking me to end it," Dean said softly, his voice cracking. "She couldn't bear the pain. Physical and emotional bruises. She'd cry, swearing she would admit that she loved him, lie and let him have her, just to end it if I didn't put her out of her misery. She mentioned you, saying she was a terrible friend, that she was abandoning you, and she hated herself for it and all the trouble she caused you."

"Stop," Xander said, struggling to keep control. Her vision was darkening, her heart racing as she felt herself descend into a black world. The _urge_ was growing, and if she didn't want to hurt Shadow too, she had to leave. Stiffly, she stood and headed for the exit.

"Xander?"

"Don't follow. Stay here." Her voice had grown cold and emotionless. Her hands had ceased shaking, but not due to regaining control. "Protect her." She disappeared into her room and came out with her equipment, her sniper rifle slung over her shoulder. Dean stood in the doorway, but she passed him without a word, her mind set on one thing: satisfy the Sniper's urge to kill.

* * *

He felt trapped inside the detective's car. His fingers twitched constantly, yet his eyes hardly wavered from the dark place ahead. He had followed Bleak successfully to an abandoned warehouse and had immediately called Tew. He sensed that that was where the Thief hid; it had to be.

"Patience, Peter," Tew said calmly. "You'll get her soon."

"Do not call me that."

"It's your name."

"My name is Hunter," he said, his eyes flashing. "Do not call me anything else."

The sly detective scoffed quietly, much to Hunter's annoyance. "No threat this time. You're improving." Hunter's hand moved in blur, and he pressed a cold knife to Tew's throat. "Understood," the detective muttered, and Hunter withdrew his weapon.

They sat in silence, watching and waiting. Hunter's knee began to bounce up and down. Tew's thumbs drummed against the steering wheel until Hunter shot him a dark look.

Hunter still didn't understand Peter's plan. He didn't understand why he was supposed to go along with the sly detective to capture the Thief and the Sniper. He thought he only needed to retrieve the Thief and make her suffer for all the pains she had put him through before he finally killed her. But the sly detective's plan was to capture her, to torture her, and then to throw her behind bars.

That was _not_ what Hunter had in mind.

"_Play along, Hunter,"_ Peter instructed. _"He is the tool, not the planner."_ This gave Hunter some relief.

Finally, there was some movement, a dark figure leaving the building. Tew and Hunter straightened, both motionless and tense as they watched the figure disappear behind a shed. They waited, and a few minutes later, a dark car drove out from behind the shed, racing away.

"Out," Tew ordered loudly, startling Hunter slightly. "Mine's leaving. Get out and look for yours."

Hunter stepped out, grabbing his bag that held his equipment, and before his door even closed, Tew sped off after the dark car.

His blood boiled, but Hunter forced himself to forget about Tew and focused on the task at hand. He had his prey to retrieve.

Crouching, Hunter set his bag down and took out what he needed: ski-mask, gas mask (in case Scarecrow was there), knife, ammo, gas capsules, and two pistols.

Once he was set, he moved forward, toward the building. He slipped in fairly easily; Scarecrow's men weren't around the main area. Hunter checked every room he came upon, expecting someone to attack him, but there was no one for a long time.

It wasn't until he had reached the second floor in the back that Hunter came across a guardian. And it was definitely a guardian he didn't want to face.

Two Rottweilers lay on the floor, one resting its head on the other. Spotting Hunter, both began growling as they lifted themselves to their paws.

Hunter backed away and headed upstairs, acting as though he had stopped on the wrong landing. He stopped halfway up, taking out his injecting gun. Two shots were all he needed to silence the dogs, but he loaded it with more, just in case.

He returned to the second floor and slowly approached them. Within a few feet, one of the dogs barked and charged at him. Hunter raised an arm, grunting in pain as the Rottweiler leapt and closed its jaw on his forearm. As they fell to the ground, Hunter pressed the gun to the dog's side and pulled the trigger.

The Rottweiler whimpered, causing the second one to growl savagely and race toward them.

Before the second dog reached him, Hunter pointed at it and pulled the trigger again. A needle caught the dog in the shoulder, but didn't slow it. The dog crashed into Hunter, landing heavily on him and grabbed his shoulder in its jaw. Hunter shot it again but cried out in agony as the Rottweiler tugged on him.

Hunter slammed his gun against the dog's head, causing it to release him, and with a third needle, the Rottweiler finally fell limp.

A door slammed open, and Bleak's head popped out. "What the hell is your problem?" he demanded. He spotted Hunter, and it clicked. He immediately slammed the door.

Cursing under his breath, Hunter heaved the heavy full-grown dog off him. He grunted as waves of pain shot through his shoulder, pulsing from the bite in his arm. Despite his shoulder bleeding, he pushed off the ground and retrieved his gas mask from his bag, slipping it on under his ski-mask.

With his pistol in one hand, a smoke capsule in another, Hunter moved toward the door, positioned himself, and then gave it a good hard kick.

The door slammed open, and Hunter threw the capsule to the ground, within the doorframe. Bleak fired three times at the door, and instantly, Hunter fell on his hands and knees, slipping inside.

Bleak stopped firing, but Hunter had located his position by the bed. Grabbing another capsule, he tossed it at Bleak's feet, and as he started coughing, Hunter snuck up behind him and injected him with the same he used on the dogs.

Bleak turned to fight him, but Hunter grabbed him in a headlock.

"Peter, if you _harm_ her," Bleak gasped, struggling against Hunter's hold.

"You won't be able to do anything. You might as well give in. The more you struggle, the faster it gets through your system." Bleak tried to response, but Hunter clasped a hand over his mouth and nose. "Here's a question for you, Bleak," Hunter said, tauntingly yet coldly. "Is it poison? Or is it fear gas?"

Bleak renewed his efforts to break away, but the sedative began taking hold. He continued to struggle, but it proved futile.

"I know what you're thinking," Hunter said as Bleak's arms weakened rapidly. Hunter cleared his throat and tried to mimic Bleak's voice, failing as he said, "If you _dare_ to harm her in any way, I'll kill you." Returning to his normal voice, he whispered, "I'd kill you first."

Bleak fell under, and Hunter dropped his limp form unceremoniously on the ground.

Hunter stepped forward to the bedside. Hatred burned inside him as he looked down upon the unconscious Thief. Her heart monitor beeped at regular intervals, and her oxygen mask supplied air; it kept her breathing.

His hatred was so great, it took an effort to restrain himself. He wanted to rip the oxygen mask off. He wanted to beat her savagely. He wanted to inject all the fear gas into her and watch her scream and wither in agony. He wanted her to suffer for taking the Boss away from him. He wanted to finish what the Boss had started, finish her off once and for all.

His hands shook as he began to disconnect the Thief from the monitors. He took off the oxygen mask and waited a few moments to ensure she would continue breathing without the assistance. Her heartbeat remained even, and the monitor whined until Hunter quickly snapped it off.

The Thief, underneath the light covers, was still dressed in her outfit – the one the Boss had chosen for her. Envy flooded through him as he removed the covers and, after pulling on leather gloves, grabbed her.

He couldn't carry her in his arms; he would drop her, which, even though he would enjoy it, he couldn't afford the entertainment. He was here to take her to her to the place that he had designed specifically for her, the last place she'd ever see, not to lose her because he dropped her on the stairs and Scarecrow's men came to investigate.

With great difficulty, Hunter shifted the Thief until he was carrying her on his back. His skin crawled, feeling contaminated by her touch, but he had to bear her arms hanging limply around his neck.

Like his entrance, Hunter left the building quietly, without alerting any of Scarecrow's men. He wandered back to where he had hidden his bag and set the unconscious Thief on the ground, propping her up against some crates. Retrieving his mobile, he sent a curt text to Tew, summoning him back. While he waited, Hunter busied himself with binding the Thief's wrists and legs.

His revenge would be sweet, he promised himself.


	39. Paying A Visit

She sat down, leaning her back against the low wall, her head resting on the edge. Her sniper rifle lay across her lap, her bag beside her, her legs outstretched. Xander closed her eyes and emptied her mind, enjoying the cold breeze that breathed in her face. It felt refreshing against her hot skin, her emotions finally burnt out.

She ignored the number hovering in the back of her mind, knowing that the newspapers later would state the count. It didn't bother her anymore; her lack of remorse or guilt was due to years of killing with her weapon of choice. She didn't even miss her time in the Marines, as a sniper.

Xander opened an eye to check her watch. Almost three in the morning, almost two hours since she left. Closing her eye, she heaved a heavy sigh, raising her hands to her face and running them through her hair.

She sighed again, standing up, over the whole thing. Slinging her sniper rifle over her shoulder, she left the roof, making her way down to the second floor. The building didn't have any functioning cameras, a stroke of luck for her, and she took the emergency exit on the second floor to avoid leaving through the lobby. No need to alert the secretary who would, in turn, alert the cops. She got enough attention as it was. Strolling casually to her car, she sped off.

Parking her car behind the shed, she stopped, suddenly aware of a foreboding feeling. Something wasn't right. Leaving her rifle in the car, she grabbed her semi-automatic Slavic pistol from the glove compartment and headed inside.

Silence fell on her ears as she walked in. Straining, she still couldn't hear anything, as though nobody was home. Frowning, she moved toward the rec room, where Crane's men usually hung out. No one was there, no sound of the television or of snoring.

Xander turned and raced up to the second floor, taking the steps two at a time. Anxiety rose in her chest as she drew closer to Shadow's room, her anxiety spiking at the sight of the open door.

She knew before she stood in the doorway. She expected to see the empty bed, the wires dangling from their machines. Her thoughts froze at the sight, only registering that she knew it would happen.

When her thoughts began again, her first was to find Dean; he was the last one she saw with Shadow.

Back in her car, speeding down the streets of Gotham, Xander cursed loudly, blaming herself for having left him alone with Shadow. She shouldn't have left Shadow in his care. Even though she had lost near all control, she shouldn't have allowed Dean to see Shadow; she shouldn't have let him _near_ her. She shouldn't have let her emotions cloud her judgment. It was her fault that Shadow was gone, that there was no doubt the Joker had her and was drugging her all over again.

She struck the steering wheel violently. She had promised Shadow that she would protect her; she wouldn't let her fall back into the Joker's hands. She ran through all the bad things she would do to Dean when she found him. "I will wring his neck, slice and dice him, shoot off his knee caps, hang him by the neck until dead, draw and quarter him. He _will_ be destroyed," she promised herself.

A traffic light turned red, but Xander didn't bother to slow down, rather she sped up, darting through the intersection before one lonely car even started forward. Lights began to flash behind her, and the sirens blared. Xander growled, "Damnit." Of all times, she did not need a car chase. Any other time, she'd accept the challenge, but right now was not the time.

She had the advantage of already being up to speed, and her car did well taking sharp turns. She made some skilled turns, losing the cop, laughing. Her laughter died quickly after as she realized she didn't know where the Joker's hideout was. Pulling into an empty parking lot, she retrieved her phone and called Dean's mobile in the hopes that he would be smart enough to answer it.

No such luck. She struck her steering wheel again in frustration. The more time she wasted, the longer Shadow was in the Joker's hands. She hit her head against her hands at the top of the wheel, her mind spinning for answers in the past conversation with Dean.

Two words stuck out: _gas chamber_. When she thought of a gas chamber, the words _death penalty_ jumped into mind, and the one place that had such room would be a prison. The Joker would hide in an abandoned prison. Decision made, Xander threw her car into drive and sped off.

There was no sign of life when she arrived, but that was to be expected. Xander broke in with her Slavic pistol ready in hand. In the prison lobby, she heard someone shuffling through things, and she snuck in behind the man responsible.

With a gun in his face, he was very helpful. The Joker had moved his hideout since Shadow had escaped; he probably believed that she would make it to the police and reveal his location. With minor probing, the lone man revealed the Joker's new location in a theater. Once she had the information, she knocked him unconscious with the butt of her weapon and then smash his cell phone. There was no need for him to alert the Joker if he came around early.

She parked directly in front of the rundown theater, casually moving around to the side. Entering through the side door, she purposely switched on lights as she went, making her way into the main theater.

Two of the Joker's goons sat in the theater, watching a black and white flick. Xander ignored it, sitting behind them and listening to their conversation.

"I can't believe you're making me watch this crap," one complained.

"Would you rather be around Joker?" the other asked.

"No." The first glanced over. "Any idea why he's pissed?"

"Where have you been? Planet Moron?" The first punched the second. "I'll kick you out, Don."

"I'd like to see you try, Nick."

Nick shrugged. "Bleak hasn't come back."

"Joker's pissed about _that_?"

"It's the girl. Bleak went off to find the girl and hasn't come back."

"Any idea where he is?" Xander asked.

Both men jumped. "Who the hell-?" Xander slammed her pistol against Don's head, knocking him out. Nick froze when Xander aimed it at his chest.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"The answer to my question."

"Bleak's been gone all night, at least. No idea where he could be."

"No hangouts?"

"None. He rarely goes out unless it's with the Joker."

"You're _so_ helpful," Xander said, sarcastically. "Where's the Joker, then?"

"Follow the screams and yelling," Nick told her.

Panic rushed through her, but she kept it from her expression. "Thanks." She hit him over the head, leaving him unconscious alongside his buddy.

As soon as she left the theater and entered the lobby, Xander's ears caught the screams Nick mentioned. Thinking the worst, Xander pinpointed the direction and raced into the employee's section.

A single hall stretched before her, doors on both sides. With every step, the screams grew louder, followed by squeals of laughter. Dread burned through her veins as she pinpointed the source's room. Xander clenched her pistol and gave the door a well-placed kick, breaking in.

The room was empty, except for a TV set, VCR, and Harley Quinn sitting on the couch, staring wide-eyed. "Who the hell are you?" Harley demanded.

"I could ask you the same thing," Xander said, coldly, "Except I know who you are, Harley. Where's the Joker?"

Harley crossed her arms, pouting slightly. "I'm not tellin'," she said, sounding like a high-pitched child. Swiftly, Xander crossed the room and grabbed Harley by her outfit's collar. "Hey!" Harley protested.

Xander almost repeated the question, but an ear-splitting scream emanated from the TV. She glanced over and almost released Harley. "What is that?" she breathed, her eyes widening.

"None of your business," Harley said, "Let me go!"

With a surge of anger, Xander slammed her pistol into Harley's face, knocking her out cold and hitting her one more time for good measure. Harley's unconscious form fell on the couch as Xander turned her back, her attention drawn to the television.

Smoke, or gas, filled the screen, but Xander could make out a form. A person was strapped to what looked like an electrical chair, bound at the hands, ankles, and waist. The head had been covered by a cap that held it in place. An IV stood on both sides of the prisoner, the needles taped into the arms. The prisoner screamed constantly, only taking time to breathe. Unable to wait it for long, Xander snatched the remote off the couch and fast-forwarded it.

Once it looked like the torture was over, Xander played it, despite the urge to shut it off. Two men walked out and unstrapped the prisoner who continued to scream, struggling against the hold of the two men. Xander didn't have to guess; she knew who it was in the chair.

Abruptly, the camera began to move unsteadily as someone picked it up. "Hello, beautiful," a very familiar husky voice said. "Enjoying the _sweet_-tah memories?"

The head lifted, and the face was flushed with anger. The mouth curved into a frown, eyebrows lowered. If that had been all, Xander would have been convinced that the Joker was just being an ass. However, she didn't miss the misty eyes, the haunted look that held more than burning anger.

The door opened, and Xander didn't look away, her eyes glued to the screen. "You only had to knock on the door, not on Harley," the same voice from the video said.

"I should kill you," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"I didn't quite catch that-tah."

"Maybe you can catch this," Xander said, raising her voice as she lifted her gun, aiming it at his chest. Her gaze finally moved, burning into him.

The Joker smirked, holding his hands up. "What's this about?"

Xander pointed at the television with her free hand. "This."

"And what about it, Xander?"

"Sniper, to you, Joker." Her tone filled with venom as she said, "You obviously don't understand the _damage_ you've caused." She gestured at the television. "Have you watched these?"

"No," he replied, dropping his hands. "I was there; I don't need to watch them."

Xander's eyes narrowed. "I think you do. With your face behind the camera, you cannot _see_ what I see."

"What are you-?"

"I _know_ cameras. I _know_ how different things look through a lens." Xander stepped forward, moving toward the Joker. "I should blast a hole through your chest," she said, softly.

"Go for it," the Joker said, calmly.

Xander lowered her weapon. "No."

"No?" The Joker gave her a sidelook, sucking on his lower lip. "I thought you weren't afraid of killing people."

"I'm not. There would just be no _point _in killing you."

He licked his lips, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Why do you need a point?"

A thin smile stretched across her face. "Killing you wouldn't bring me satisfaction. Punishing you will." The Joker cocked his head. "Besides, death doesn't bother you so why would I kill you, only to have you satisfied?" He opened his mouth, but as Xander stepped toward him, he shut it, waiting for her to continue. She didn't speak, merely stared into his eyes, her own cold and hard.

Silence fell between them. Besides their breathing – the Joker's heavy, Xander's even – the low whine of the television sounded in the room, the screen paused on Shadow's haunted eyes.

Xander finally moved, sidestepping around the Joker and heading for the door, her eyes never leaving him. Her hand touched the doorknob, and she stopped. The Joker watched her, expecting something, anything from her.

"You know me well enough," Xander began, "To know that when I make a threat, I intend to carry it out. I gave you a chance, one you abused. For that, _Jack_," – the Joker flinched – "I intend to keep my promise and make you suffer."

Xander left the room, leaving her promise hanging in the air.

Once she had placed enough distance between her and the theater, Xander pulled over and shut off her car. She had to think. She needed to find Shadow; she had seen a piece of what her friend was like on the drug. How bad would she be now?

At least she was out of the Joker's clenches.

That was the only good thing Xander could hold onto because the next thing that followed was that she was with Dean. Given she wouldn't be better off by herself, Xander certainly didn't want Dean to be in charge of Shadow's welfare.

She propped her head against her hand, her elbow resting against her window. She hadn't heard the Rottweilers when she had returned to the warehouse so Dean must have taken them with him. Two possible reasons he would have done that: one, they were Shadow's dogs, and if he was going to take her out of the city, he would bring her dogs along. Or two, he needed the dogs to track her down.

When the thought crossed her mind, she swore loudly. "If he lost her again..." She was too angry to finish the threat, instead turning her key in the ignition and driving off to search the city.

Finding a man with two dogs early in the morning wouldn't be very hard. However, the weather had different ideas and started a downpour. Xander turned on her windshield wipers to max and leaned forward over her wheel, squinting to see through the pouring rain. She grew impatient after searching for half an hour with no luck. It frustrated her that she didn't even know if Dean was still in the city; if he had taken Shadow and left, he would be miles away.

She had to assume he was still somewhere in the city and was looking for Shadow. If it was her, she would have found somewhere to take cover rather than walk around in the downpour.

She finally located him, standing underneath a bakery canopy with the two Rottweilers. The street was devoid of any cars, except one across the road from Dean. Xander drove her car into a parking spot directly in front of Dean, leaving her headlights on. He raised a hand to protect his eyes as his other hand reached for his gun.

Xander stepped out of her car, standing between the door and the vehicle, her pistol resting comfortably in her hand. "Don't bother, Dean. Keep your hands at your sides."

He obeyed, squinting against the harsh lights. "If you think I stole Shadow, you're wrong," he said.

She whistled loudly, and the Rottweilers bolted toward the headlights, swerving around her vehicle. Prince stopped in time, but Scout slipped on the wet road and slammed into Xander's legs. She grunted but managed to hold herself upright. "Get in the car, Dean," she ordered, moving her seat so the two dogs could jump in the back. She pulled a face at the thought of wet dog but realized that desperate measures were needed to find Shadow.

Dean joined her, a complaint toward Scout escaping his mouth as she stuck her head out between the front seats. "I know you don't trust me, Xander," he began.

"Sniper," she corrected him.

"Sniper...I know we've disagreed about how you should have handled things-."

"We're not talking about that."

"It's become a feud," he said. "And I don't want it to be. I was only looking after you like a good brother should."

Xander glanced at him, startled. "How do you know?"

"Shadow told me." His voice grew soft. "She was in one of her episodes, alone, and when I came in and talked to her, she calmed down, telling me that I was just as caring as you were. She said it must run in the family, but skipped the first child." Dean frowned. "I don't know what she means about the first child bit, but I understood that you and I are siblings."

"Half-siblings," Xander said quietly.

"I'll leave your life, Xander," Dean said. "I'll leave you be after we find Shadow. If we work together, we'll be able to find her."

"Don't try to sound like Disney film."

"You know it's true. We're looking for the same person, someone we both care deeply about. And I can tell you that she's not by herself." Xander looked at him, horrified before she controlled her expression. "She's in danger so it's _essential _that you and I work together."

Swallowing her fear, she nodded. "If she's not with you or the Joker, who is she with?"

"Hunter," Dean replied. "Have you heard of him?"

"Shadow mentioned him. He was the man who nearly killed her before she lost her memories."

"Actually, he's tried several times and has been thwarted every time so far. He can't kill her, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"As would I." Xander threw her car into reverse and backed out.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he grabbed the handle over his door.

"Is this Hunter guy known for forming alliances?" she asked.

"He supposedly joined with Jason Hawkins."

"The cop lovesick over Shadow?"

"That's him. He soon learned too late that Hunter wasn't out to simply take her away from the Joker."

"Would he happen to be a man to do anything to get what he wants?"

Dean thought for a moment and then answered, "Yes."

"Sounds like someone I know. A certain someone we're going to pay a visit."

"Who?" Dean asked.

"Ever heard of that new detective that everybody hates? Well, he's my ex and has previous contacts with criminals. Besides, I owe him a visit."

The MCU was dark, except for a few offices. The night cop had wandered off into the breakroom, which gave Xander and Dean the opportunity to slip inside and locate Tew's office unnoticed.

"Excuse me?" Tew snapped upon hearing them enter. His eyes rose from his paperwork and fell instantly on Xander and on the Slavic pistol pointed at his face. "You shoot in here, the cops will be on you, Xander."

"Let's be _formal_, Detective," Xander said, "Since I'm here for a particular reason."

"Turning yourself in?" She scoffed as his eyes flickered to Dean. "Ah, Mr. Bleak, who would have thought that you were friends with a criminal such as Ms. Eccleston here."

"It's Bleak," Dean growled. "And you'll address her as Sniper."

"Is he your lackey now?" Tew asked, arching an eyebrow. "What happened to Brucie?"

"If _Wayne_ was my lackey, you wouldn't be within two hundred miles of Gotham City." Xander smirked. "And really, Tew, let's be serious now. I don't have _lackeys_ like you do. There's a certain one I'm sure you've hooked up with for some form of mutual gain."

"I don't answer to you, _Sniper_." The taunt was evident in his voice as he leaned back comfortably in his seat. "You can't threaten to kill me because I know you're not going to. How else would you ever get any information?"

"Mistake number one, Tew. You gave away the fact that you do know who I'm talking about, even before I said it." Xander tsked with her tongue. "You're a poor excuse for detective."

"Insult me, and you won't get any farther."

Dean stepped forward. "What are you hoping to gain, Tew?" he asked. "After all, you have Jane McKinley."

"_I_ don't."

Xander smiled sweetly, holding up two fingers. "Mistake number two."

Dean placed his hand flat on the desk, leaning forward and blocking Tew's view of Xander. "You obviously don't know Hunter as well as you think you do."

"What about him?" Tew asked. He frowned when Xander held up a third finger.

"I've worked around him for a couple of years. He's a backstabber, very single-minded, and only looks out for himself."

"What do you mean?"

"You seem like the type of guy who likes attention," Dean said, calmly. "I've seen you on the news several times since you've arrived here. Particularly when the case involved either Sniper or Shadow. No doubt you would receive a great deal of attention if you caught the detective-impersonating criminal. It would discredit the MCU, the fools who deserve it when they've treated you so badly since you've arrived here to offer your services."

Tew glared at him. "I will be known for catching both McKinley and Sniper. After all, one of them is standing in my office, and Hunter is holding the other. I'll let him have his fun, and then he'll hand her over to me when he's done with her so I can place her behind bars like she deserves." He spat the last part, his hatred toward Shadow becoming more clear.

Dean shook his head. "You didn't listen," he pointed out. "I said that Hunter is a backstabber. When he's 'done' with her, she'll be dead."

It took a moment to sink in, and then Tew's face paled. Xander silently congratulated her half-brother, a small sense of pride in him growing. Not many people could make Tew pale like that.

"Now, if you'd like to save your ticket to fame," Dean began. "You might want to tell us where Hunter's keeping her."


	40. Beyond Saving

It was said that the old power plant had been converted from a shoe factory. Dean, as he took in the building, wondered if the constructor who did the conversion had been a patient at Arkham. He certainly had to be mad enough to believe he could make a power plant out of a shoe factory. The fact he placed all his money into the project was evidence enough to question his sanity.

Dean joined Xander at the trunk of her car where she was loading her Slavic pistol and her sniper rifle. Off to the side, Scout and Prince shook themselves to get the water out of their fur.

"I'm glad they waited until they were _outside_ of the car," Xander said.

"The Joker trained them not to."

"That's one thing I _should_ thank him for, but I don't plan to." She gestured toward the variety of guns in her trunk. "If you want, you can choose one or two. Keep your own if you're more comfortable."

Dean held it up. "Actually, it's Shadow's." Xander glanced it, and her eyes widened slightly in recognition. "I'm assuming this is the one you gave her."

Xander turned her attention to her rifle. "At least the Joker doesn't have it," she said quietly.

Dean didn't press, noticing how his half-sister's shoulders slumped as she focused on her own weapon, preparing it. "Tew said there was only one entrance."

"Don't believe everything he says. He's just hoping that Hunter will get distracted with us so that he can sneak in and grab Shadow himself."

"He's unconscious though. He wouldn't get here in time."

Xander clapped her hand on his back. "If you hear sirens, you know he's coming." Gracefully, she slung her rifle over her shoulder and grabbed her Slavic pistol. She tossed him an extra ammo pack. "If you enter through the entrance Tew mentioned, be careful. Hunter might have set traps that only he knows about. Remember, he doesn't trust Tew."

"And you be careful." Xander gave him a look. "Shadow would blame herself if she found out you died trying to rescue her."

"I'm not the one who needs to worry about getting killed. You're the one facing Hunter, man to man." Xander smiled slightly. "But I'll have you covered from above. Knowing old factories, they will have catwalks, and I've got really good aim." She looked at him and added, "Better watch your back." But she said it with a wink.

She started toward the converted power plant, and Scout bounded after her. Seeing the dog keeping pace with her, Xander accepted the Rottweiler's presence with a pat on her head and jogged toward the side of the building. Whistling for Prince, Dean headed for the other side.

His hand firm on Shadow's Slavic, Dean hurried along the side, stepping over puddles. Prince remained slightly ahead of him, acting as guard. Dean spotted the door hidden behind several crates, some of which rotten and crawling with bugs. After carefully checking for traps, Dean prepared to move the crates one by one, but then, his phone vibrated.

Xander had sent him a text. _Do me a favor. Be very loud._

He wondered why, but a grin made its way across his face. With a kick, he loudly shoved the crates away from the door, causing them to fall and create such ruckus that Xander, where she was positioned, probably heard him.

"Loud noise, check," Dean said and then reached for the door.

Another text came in. _Hunter hired thugs. Be careful._

Dean frowned at the message but tucked away his phone. If Peter thought he needed thugs, then he had been expecting Tew to give away Shadow's location. Most likely, he was prepared for someone coming to rescue her.

Dean heard voices on the other side of the door, two men arguing over who should open the door and who should cover who. Rolling his eyes, he slipped behind the door and signaled Prince, who positioned himself behind the fallen crates. Readjusting his grip on Shadow's Slavic, Dean slowed his breathing, holding it when the door burst open.

* * *

Initially, Xander worried that she had taken the wrong side of the converted power plant. She wanted access to the catwalks so she had to locate the emergency stairs, leading to the second floor. Dean had trained more for close-quarters combat, but Xander specialized in being a sniper, picking the enemy off from a distance. She could handle herself in combat, but she preferred watching her partners' backs. And for the time being, that was Dean.

She spotted the emergency stairs and heaved a relieved sigh. Scout made a noise beside her, and she absentmindedly dropped a hand on the Rottweiler's head.

A thought occurred to her, and she knelt beside Scout. "I don't know what the signal is for 'be very quiet', if you even have one, but that's what I need you to do." Intelligence shown in Scout's eyes, and she quickly nuzzled Xander's hand, as if to say that she understood. Xander couldn't help but smile at the dog; she knew why Shadow loved them, particularly Scout.

She started up the emergency stairs with Scout behind her. It amazed her how quietly the Rottweiler padded after her, but she shook her head and focused on what she was doing.

Near the top of the stairs, Xander slowed and crouched, giving Scout an open palm, out of habit from her time in the Marines. Scout surprised her yet again by obeying. Xander crept forward, her eyes shifting from the window that overlooked the emergency stairs and the exit door.

A shadow walked past the glass, and she paused, watching and waiting. When the shadow returned, he looked out the window, stifling a yawn with a hand. Xander remained still, knowing that movement would attract attention. Soon, the man was joined by another, and they started talking.

Xander resisted the urge to roll her eyes and heave an exasperated sigh as she slipped her hand into her pocket. She kept her phone on her hidden side as she texted Dean, hoping that she wasn't spelling anything incorrectly since she couldn't turn her head. She pressed send and then waited, straining her ears for any sound that Dean would make.

She needn't have worried because whatever he did was loud enough that she could hear it from across the building. Scout's ears perked up, but the two men had turned away from the window and quickly disappeared to investigate the noise. Xander released the breath she had been holding when she saw Scout move, and she dropped a hand on the dog's head as she regained control over her breathing.

"No ear perking unless there's danger," Xander whispered softly. Scout nuzzled her side, urging her forward.

Xander quickly moved to the exit door, pressing herself against it while she tried to peer through the window, searching for any sign of the two men. She sent a warning to Dean, thinking he was still outside, and then she debated how to get in. Looking at Scout, she asked, "Exit door or window?" The dog tilted her head, perking her ears. "Should we risk the possibility of the door having an alarm?" Scout made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat. "Window it is, then."

* * *

The door slammed against a crate. No one stepped outside, but one man whispered, "Is anyone there?" When no response came, he stepped forward, his automatic rifle ready in his hands. He scanned in front of him and then quickly jumped behind the door, yelling and aiming his weapon, but he saw no one.

"All clear," he said, hanging his rifle by his side.

A distant voice called from inside the converted power plant, and the second man yelled, "False alarm. The crates caved in on themselves."

The first man turned to head back in, but he came face-to-face with Dean. He didn't have time to cry out as Dean hit him in the face with a piece of wood. The man collapsed on the ground, and Dean, taking no chances, struck him again.

"Hey, Ed?" Dean ducked behind a large crate, crouching and moving around it as the second man wandered outside. "Ed, what are you-?" Dean struck him from behind. A cry of pain burst from the man before Dean could silence him so, to draw further attention to his presence, Dean took Shadow's Slavic and shot the two men in the back. The still conscious man screamed in agony, but with another smack with the board and he lay still.

Dean exhaled slowly, feeling the self-hatred boil in his veins. He thought of Shadow and shook the hatred away; there would be time for that later. Whistling for Prince, he quickly slipped inside the converted power plant before anyone else came to investigate.

* * *

"I am _not_ having this argument with you."

Scout growled, barring Xander's way to the window.

"No, you're staying out here." The dog struck the stair with her paw. "Don't have a tantrum. I'm not shoving you through the window." Xander used her knee to move Scout, and she felt the dog's mouth close over her leg. "You bite me, and I swear, I'm gonna hurt you." She didn't mean it; she knew Scout wasn't using her teeth on her.

A whine escaped the stubborn Rottweiler, and Xander sighed. "Fine. But let me check it's clear."

The window hadn't been difficult to break. Xander worked with the cracks it already contained and made the hole bigger and at a better height for her to enter. She heaved herself inside, stepping lightly on the metal catwalk, testing its strength, and then looked around to ensure nobody was around before she pried more glass from the broken frame.

She was careful with the sharp bits at the bottom, not wanting Scout to hurt herself. As soon as the hole was big enough, she told the dog, "Jump." Eagerly, the Rottweiler bounded into the window, using the ledge to help her through, but she landed heavily on the catwalk and whimpered in pain.

Xander kneeled by her and checked her paws, finding one with a piece of glass shard. "I'm sorry, girl," she said. It was big enough for her fingers to hold onto, and she tore it out, causing the dog to whine.

A voice called out. "What's going on?"

"False alarm," another answered. "The crates caved in on themselves."

"It's all over," Xander whispered soothingly as she retrieved a small cloth from her emergency kit in her pocket. "Always have one on hand," she told the dog, more for comforting Scout than actually telling her. She applied pressure on the wound, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of Hunter's men.

She jumped when she heard two gunshots. A rush of movement followed, and the air filled with voices calling out to each other.

"You hear that?"

"Of course I did."

"I heard two shots."

"Where is it coming from?"

"Is it Batman?"

"Batman doesn't use guns, idiot."

"Where did it _come_ from, guys?"

"Where are Ed and Dan? They were supposed to be watching the side door."

"Nat, Ian, go back to the emergency door. You're supposed to be watching it."

"Time to move," Xander told Scout. The Rottweiler wagged her tail, quickly nuzzling Xander's hand as if she was thanking her, and then growled. "Another time, Scout." She pushed off the ground and turned on the spot. One of Hunter's men had popped up and spotted her. He opened his mouth to warn the others, but Xander shot him first, silencing him.

"They would have heard that," Xander said as she sprinted down the catwalk toward a door that she hoped led closer to Shadow. Scout bounded after her, squeezing past her and leading the way. Another man pulled himself up onto the catwalk, but didn't stand a chance as Xander fired a bullet through his head.

She didn't have time for pleasantries. She needed a vantage point. Then, she stopped as she glanced over the railing. Hunter's men were scattered about bottom floor like ants, ten in total. A smile appeared on her face.

"Dean had better stay put if he knew what was good for him."

* * *

Dean's hand held Prince's collar, keeping the Rottweiler close to him. They had ducked behind a steam generator while Peter's guys ran around, yelling at one another, trying to discern where the intruders were. He had heard gunshots from the catwalks and knew Xander had been spotted. Further, one shouted that the window had been broken so there was at least two.

Now, the men had stopped scrambling aimlessly and were organizing themselves in pairs to search the place. With guards set at each of the entrances, the other groups wandered the floor. Dean held his breath when a pair passed his location and then relaxed, but he knew that they would start looking behind the generators and boilers soon.

Then, all hell broke loose as the sound of a sniper rifle echoed through the stifling air of the converted power plant. Prince's ears perked up at the sound, and Dean laid a hand on the dog's head to calm him as the air burst with rapid fire. Dean could easily distinguish Xander's shooting from Hunter's men's, and he counted ten shots, each followed by a cry of pain.

One shot hit a pipe near him, causing Prince to jump, but Dean held him steady with a firm grip. Xander knew where he was and was merely letting him know that she wanted him to stay put.

"That won't be an issue," Dean muttered as her shots refocused on the henchmen.

It was over in minutes. Some of the men had taken a few shots because they moved behind various obstacles while she aimed, but she eventually hit them all. When it grew silent, Dean pointed his gun in the air and emptied the clip, with a variety of time between shots.

As he reloaded the Slavic, he received a text. _Why the hell are you so wasteful?_

Dean smirked as he straightened, releasing Prince. The dog bounded out, not having enjoyed the close-quarters. Dean winced as he moved his left leg, feeling the bandages stiffen against the wound the Joker had gifted him. Mentally cursing the psychopathic clown, he followed Prince toward the door that lead into the next room, but he glanced up to see Xander glaring daggers at him. Because he understood the need to be quiet, he mouthed, _I love you too_.

She stuck her tongue out at him and then disappeared from the catwalk.

Prince gave a low whine, summoning Dean to the door that led into the next room. Clenching Shadow's Slavic, Dean gripped the knob and turned slowly, trying to be as quiet as he could. He didn't know if Peter was waiting for him in the next room.

The room had a low ceiling, filled with generators and boilers, more condescended than the previous area. Prince padded softly amongst the loud machines, the loud hum filling the air. Steam spouted from vents at irregular intervals. Dean felt the heat press against his skin, and as he wandered in slowly, trying to avoid being burnt by the unpredictable steam spouts, perspiration dripped down his face.

His leg throbbed painfully, and he knew that it most likely had started to bleed again. He attempted to lessen the weight, shifting to his left leg when he waited for the steam to stop spouting. If he came face-to-face with Peter, he would have to hide the fact that he was already wounded.

Suddenly, he heard a noise through the steam and the humming of the generators. He couldn't tell what it was, but shortly after, the ground shook underneath his feet. Prince whined, looking to Dean uncertainly. As the ground settled, he heard the clear humming and crackling of electricity.

Instantly, it clicked in his mind what Peter was going to do.

"C'mon, Prince," he said roughly. He ignored the pain in his leg as he darted around the boilers and generators, nearly getting scorched by steam many times. He broke out into a clearer space where the ceiling lifted high over his head.

The moment he saw the equipment, a stab of coldness cut through him. "No," he breathed. The room had been set up similar to the gas chamber that the Joker had trapped Shadow inside many, many times. He didn't know if Peter had known that, but the chair with the straps was all too familiar, especially the person strapped down.

"Shadow," he said and stepped forward. Lights bursted in his vision as pain erupted in his head. Dean felt his body fall to the ground, numb to the impact with the floor, but then everything came back in such a rush that he cried out.

"I'm always prepared, Bleak," Peter's cold voice said overhead. "Always two steps ahead of everyone who thinks they can thwart me."

Dean groaned as he tried to get his hands underneath him, but Peter cruelly kicked his arms away from his body. "Try to stand up, Bleak, and I'll kill you."

"You can't if you're dead, Peter," Dean said.

Peter placed a foot on Dean's back and applied his weight; Dean gasped as his lungs constricted underneath the weight. "I don't know why you insist on calling me Peter, Bleak. The name's Hunter."

Wheezing, Dean managed to say, "Cause it's your real name", before Peter shifted more weight down on him.

Peter scoffed at his answer. "You know, I'm _glad_ you made it. I was going to send out invitations, but I realized that you would come anyway. The Boss, well, it is probably better that he says away in case the _Thief_ works her magic on him again."

It clicked in Dean's mind that he was referring to Shadow. "Don't...like her much...do you? This is...what? The umpteenth...attempt?" His lungs ached under the pressure and burned from the lack of oxygen.

"She's good at avoiding her date with Death, but Death is becoming impatient." Peter lifted his foot. "_I'm_ growing impatient." He casually approached Shadow, who sat limply in her chair, her head hanging over her chest. Peter, with a gloved hand, upturned her face to look at him, but her eyes were closed, as if she was still unconscious.

"She's awake," Peter told Dean. "She resisted me earlier. It took you so _long_ to get here." Peter turned his head and smirked. "She screamed for you and someone named Xander. It is more evidence that she was only _using_ the Boss, toying with his mind."

"You're insane," Dean gasped, attempting to push himself up again.

"I told you not to _move_," Peter shouted angrily. His handgun appeared almost magically, and he fired. Dean flinched but heard a thud and a whimper as a heavy weight dropped on the floor before him.

Dean's heart lurched at the sight of Prince lying in front of him. Quickly, he pulled himself to his hands and knees and checked the dog, but the Rottweiler was already dead, his last act of loyalty burned into Dean's memory.

"You _bastard_," Dean growled.

"It's your fault," Peter replied casually as he sauntered toward Dean, mimicking the Joker's movement almost perfectly. He jumped over the dead dog and landed heavily on Dean's wounded leg. A scream of pain escaped Dean's mouth. His leg snapped sickeningly, and he paled, nearly losing consciousness.

"That should keep you down," Peter said coldly. He returned to Shadow, grabbing a bag mask and pulling it over her head before buckling on the metal cap. He wandered over to the control panel, whistling as he proceeded to press a series of button. Through the mist of pain in his muddled mind, Dean felt the similar movement of the ground, followed by a stillness completed with the crackling of electricity.

"Ready for some fireworks, Bleakboy?" Peter's hand reached for the black lever. "Did you know that the electric chair would send about two thousand volts in a prisoner's body? It certainly did awful things to the body, all that electricity." Peter glanced at Shadow, a wicked grin on his face. "She's good at avoiding Death, but I don't think even _she_ can survive nearly 25,000 volts. Do you?" He chuckled. "Let's see then."

Throughout Peter's lecture, Dean had struggled through the agony in his leg and retrieved Shadow's Slavic. He moved to find better aim, but in the process of moving, the pain stabbed mercilessly up and down his leg. He cried out as he fired. At the same moment, Peter sidestepped, causing the bullet to miss, as he angrily pulled the lever.

With a surge, electricity shot through the cables that led straight down to Shadow. Dean screamed as the body jerked with the flow of electricity, straining against the leather. A hand gripped the arm of the chair while the fingers of the other curled upward.

His emotions drowning out the agony, Dean bolted to his feet and charged toward Peter. The pleasure remained on Peter's face as he turned, whipping out his gun again, aiming at Dean. One gunshot pierced through the electricity. Without slowing, Dean crashed into him, slamming him into the control panel and reaching for the lever.

The electricity slowed, crackling dangerously. Dean's heart pounded viciously against his chest as he leaned against the panel, shoving Peter out of the way. Peter slumped to the floor, a bullet between his eyes, and when Dean saw this, he looked up to the second floor, glaring at Xander.

Even from a distance, Dean saw that Xander was pale, nearly white, with her eyes wide, staring unblinkingly in Shadow's direction. The power plant finally shut down, and Dean, grunting in pain, made his way toward the electric chair.

A stench of something burning whiffed over him, but he ignored it. Dean hurriedly undid the straps and pulled off the mask and the metal cap. He expected burnt flesh and hair. He hadn't expected her to look normal, for her skin to only be very warm to the touch.

Dean slipped his arms under her legs and behind her back, attempting to lift her from the chair, but his broken leg gave out. They crashed to the floor, and Dean yelled in agony. Tears involuntarily sprang into his eyes as he cradled her in his arms. Trying to push past the raging pain, Dean checked her vital signs, finding no life, no heartbeat.

His breathing grew uneven, and he tried to hold it back. His emotions won out, and his shoulders bobbed, a sob wracking through his body.

* * *

Xander couldn't breathe. Fury and sorrow raged a war inside her, struggling for domination against the guilt that threatened to consume her. Scout pressed against her side, whining sorrowfully.

Dean collapsed on the ground with Shadow and sobbed, pressing his forehead to hers. Xander shuddered and took a shaky breath. If she hadn't been caught up by Hunter's hidden men around on the platform, she would have killed the man sooner and spared Shadow's life. She had been too late to save her.

Scout's whining cut off abruptly, and Xander turned her head, catching a glimpse of movement in her peripheral vision.

A startled yell sounded below, and her attention switched back to Dean who was staring at his hands. _Shadow was gone._

Scout barked a warning. Xander heard the click of a gun being cocked behind her. Then, a gunshot cracked in the air, and something thudded heavily to the floor.

Xander twisted her body to look behind her. Tew lay on the platform, his eyes staring lifelessly at her. She caught movement in her peripheral vision again and turned her head. This time, she saw clearly who stood there, a silent form in the shadows.

Shadow stood a few meters away from Xander, her hand still raised, gripping her Slavic firmly. Xander's eyes widened slightly in confusion. When she had been down with Dean, Shadow had on the outfit that the Joker had handpicked for her. Now, she stood in the clothes she wore as a detective, except she kept the long purple jacket.

Then, it registered. The Shadow in the chair had only been a shadow of her, solid in every way except it hadn't been alive. Xander had noticed that it was odd she hadn't screamed when the voltage had shocked her, but at the time, she couldn't quite figure out what to do beyond killing Hunter.

"Shadow?" Xander's voice cracked, but Shadow had clearly heard her. She turned her head, her blue eyes meeting Xander's. In that moment, Xander lost her voice entirely.

"Two down," Shadow said, her voice void of life. "Two more." Then, she turned on her heel and headed for the door that Xander had previously entered.

"Was that Shadow?" Dean called from down below. "Shadow! Shadow, please, can you hear me?"

"Stop, Dean," Xander told him. "Yes, it's Shadow, and yes, she can hear you."

"Then why is she moving away?"

Xander stood and hurried toward the ladder that led down from the platform. She gave Scout the signal to stay and then climbed down quickly. "Can you walk?" she asked as she approached.

"Are we going after her?"

"Just to watch her back." Xander crouched by his leg and saw it hung at an awkward angle. "You know you'll never walk without a cane at least now, right? Not after all the running you did on this thing."

"Shadow," Dean gasped, his face white from trying to move his leg. "She needs-."

"You need more help than she does right now," Xander snapped. "There's something she needs to do."

"She can't. She has to come with us." Dean grimaced.

Xander looked at him, and he caught the sight of her lower lip trembling. "I have to reset your leg and then get you back to my car. And no, we're not going after her. If we try to stop her from what she needs to do, she'll kill us." Dean's face would have paled if it wasn't already, Xander knew.

Rapid fire from an automatic rifle echoed outside the power plant. Xander sighed. "We don't have much time," she said. "She's summoning the next one."

"Next one what?" Dean asked carefully.

"The next one on her list." Xander reset Dean's leg, much to his agony, and then heaved him off the ground, allowing him to place an arm over her shoulders so she could support him. Scout barked and whined from on the platform, and Xander told her that she would be back for her but to remain out of sight until then.

When they exited the power plant through the side door, they heard the sirens.

"We need to get her before the police come," Dean panted. "We need to save her."

"Believe me, Dean," Xander said quietly. "She's beyond saving now."


	41. Tying Loose Ends

Xander left Dean in her car and returned to retrieve Scout. Dean asked her to retrieve Prince's body too because he wanted to properly bury him alongside another Rottweiler named Buddy. With some difficulty, Xander managed to carry the dead dog back to her car, wrapping the body in tarp from the power plant and storing it in her trunk. Dean had lost consciousness, and Scout merely laid down on the floor, mourning for her fellow dog.

When the police finally arrived, Xander had found a decent vantage point from which to watch over Shadow as she confronted the cops. Xander had her sniper rifle prepared in case someone meant to hurt her friend, but for a moment, she wondered if she even had the courage to protect Shadow.

She had seen the look in her eyes and knew that she had a motive, and if anyone stopped her from doing what she needed to do, she would kill them without hesitation, whether they were friend or foe. She hadn't lied to Dean.

Shadow was beyond saving. Her mind had snapped. Now, she was driven to madness, and Xander guessed that by Shadow's remark about two down and two more, Shadow had a hit list.

If there was any chance, even the _slimmest_ chance of saving her, it would be for Shadow to complete her mission: the objective to kill four certain people.

The cops pulled in, barricading the entrance and exit to the converted power plant. Xander heaved a sigh of relief when she realized her hunch had been correct, and she had moved her car. As the uniforms stepped out of their cars and trained weapons at the main entrance, Xander stopped Shadow casually walking toward them, as if to greet them.

"Drop your weapon," a youthful voice ordered through a megaphone. "We have you surrounded."

Xander caught the slight shrug of Shadow's shoulders and wondered what she was thinking right now. The madness certainly did wonders to someone's rationality. Shadow had always feared being caught by her fellow cops; now, it was a strong possibility, except for one thing: she wasn't going to let anyone take her quietly.

"Is Lieutenant Jason Hawkins here?" she asked, her voice ringing clearly as if she had a megaphone, but Xander saw no such thing in her hands. The only thing Shadow held was her Slavic pistol, which she kept by her side.

"Stand down," the cop ordered.

"Is Lieutenant Jason Hawkins _here_?" Shadow asked again, an edge in her voice. A smile twitched at the corner of Xander's mouth; she may have lost her mind, but her limited patience was still as short as ever.

"Miss, drop your weapon and put your hands up."

Even from overheard, Xander still heard Shadow's exasperated sigh. Maybe she had gotten it wrong. Maybe Shadow hadn't lost her mind but rather became mad in the sense of more rationality than a normal person.

"I'll ask again," Shadow said. "Is Jason Hawkins _present_?"

Xander caught sight of the cop with the megaphone and recognized Jason Hawkins speaking to the youthful officer. When no response came, Shadow heaved yet another sigh and stepped forward. A warning shot struck the ground at her feet, and she merely stopped, not even a flinch.

"Don't move," an officer from the front line ordered. "One more step, and we'll shoot."

Xander saw Shadow's body shifting and knew she would take another step. As she aimed at the front cop, another shot a second warning, but this time, Shadow didn't stop.

"Woman, stand _down_," a third officer shouted. Shadow didn't show any sign of stopping and was nearing the front line. Xander's blood ran cold as several cops open fired on her best friend. Her finger rested on the trigger, but she didn't pull, sensing that she didn't need to kill any of the cops.

And she was correct.

The moment the cops' fingers moved to pull their triggers, Shadow had already relocated, shadowing forward a few meters and continuing her progress toward the officers without slowing her pace. It took time for the police to register what had happened, and as one called out warning, several more cops fired. Their bullets missed as Shadow shadowed once again, yet another few meters forward.

Xander watched with her heart in her throat. She had never seen Shadow's ability in action, and it sent a chill down her spine. Although Shadow's shadowing distance was predictable, she knew that her friend could make it as unpredictable as she wanted. It was alien to Xander, who was so used to normal human targets. If she had Shadow as a target, she believed that Shadow would be the only person who would be able to survive her wrath as Sniper, and that scared Xander.

Shadow was closing the distance between herself and Jason Hawkins. He held his gun in his hand, but his facial expression told Xander that he wouldn't be able to shoot. Xander glanced through her sniper rifle, barely spotting the perspiration that dripped down Jason's face. With a closer look at the other cops, Xander realized something.

None of them _recognized_ Shadow.

They understood she was a danger, a threat to their lives - and Jason's - but they didn't know that she was Jane McKinley, the detective from the asylum who had helped them in their efforts to fight crime for several months. How must that feel to Shadow, Xander wondered, to know that the Joker had undone all of her hard work to be acknowledged as a legal citizen with good motives.

Without a doubt, Xander knew that Shadow was targeting those who had ruined her working reputation. Hunter, Tew, and now Jason. Undoubtedly, the Joker was on the list as well.

"I asked nicely," Shadow told the officers as she neared Jason. "And here he is." They fired once more, and then Shadow closed the distance. She disarmed him swiftly and had him down on his knees with his arm behind his back. "I only need him for a minute or two," she said loudly. "If you want him after I'm finished, come and get him inside." She shadowed, taking Jason with her.

Swiftly, Xander grabbed her sniper rifle and ran back inside the converted power plant, slinging her weapon over her shoulder. She raced along the catwalk, entering the second room where she knew Shadow would be with the lieutenant.

"What are you doing?" Jason's scared voice demanded. "Let me go." Xander heard the humming of the generators and knew Shadow was preparing to use them. "Jane, please, listen to me. We can make it right. I can speak on your behalf. Just let me go, and I'll-."

"You'll what?" Shadow interrupted, her voice filled with venom. "After everything, they won't take me back, and they certainly won't clear my name once I'm through with you."

"Jane, let's talk about this."

"No," Shadow yelled. "I'm done talking to you. I have _been_ done since the day you left me to die in an alley." Xander crept toward the railing, hardly conscious of Tew's body still lying on the floor. Shadow released a dark chuckle. "Oh, were you hoping I'd never remember that? You can thank Peter for that." She gestured to the Joker's ex-henchman. "He had a mind to put me out of my misery, strapping me into the same seat as you are now. And although it wasn't really me in the chair, I still _felt_ it."

Xander involuntarily shivered. She didn't recognize her best friend's voice. The bitterness, the anger, and the madness had completely altered Shadow's vocal sound. If Xander couldn't see her best friend talking to Jason now, she would have thought it was someone else entirely.

"Jane..." Jason whispered, and then he cried out in pain. Shadow struck him against the face, the force of her fist nearly breaking his jaw. She pointed a finger at him and said something to him at such a low volume that Xander couldn't make out the words.

Then, Shadow straightened and approached the panel that Hunter once manned. "You couldn't even finish the job correctly," she told Jason as she tweaked some of the controls. "Hunter couldn't kill me with a metal bat or 25,000 volts so it's no wonder that a bullet couldn't do anything either." She chuckled again, the dark sound sending yet another chill down Xander's spine. "I'll combine the two methods, and show you how to do it correctly."

"Jane, don't pull that-." Shadow pulled the lever, and Jason's scream tore from his body as the voltage shot through him.

"I don't obey your orders anymore," she said. She watched him as his body strained against his bindings and then turned her head as if she had heard something. Xander jumped when she heard the door on the platform burst open. She realized that she would be caught alongside Shadow and so quickly moved to find a spot. She heard a gunshot, and Jason's screams ended abruptly.

"Freeze!" Xander froze, her eyes wide as the cops spotted her, two of them trained their weapons on her. She had never been caught before so this was a whole new experience, the racing of her heart, the coldness that ran through her veins.

But she blinked and suddenly, the cops weren't there. Another blink and she realized she wasn't even in the converted power plant anymore.

Someone shifted behind her, and she spun, fist leading. A hand caught it, and Xander came face-to-face with Shadow.

"It's just me," Shadow said, plainly. Her eyes were dark, and standing so close to her, Xander could see the swirl of insanity and emotions.

She took a slow, shaky breath and said, "Hi."

Despite the darkness about her, Shadow's mouth broke into a small smile. "Before you ask, I shadowed you out. I don't think the cops had enough time to register who you were, especially since you're dressed differently from the Alexandra Eccleston they've seen and gawked at on the television screen." She released Xander's hand and glanced over her shoulder. "Can you do me a favor?" she asked.

"Anything you need," Xander said without hesitation. Seeing the smile on Shadow's face had raised her hopes that her friend was breaking from the insanity spell - if she could call it that.

"Drive to the Narrows," Shadow said. "I have one more thing to do." Then, she shadowed without giving Xander time to nod.

Her head spinning, Xander checked on Dean and took some time to reposition his leg and bound it. He would have to see a professional soon, but Xander knew she had to be at the Narrows. Shadow had one more thing to do, and Xander understood that it was necessary if she wanted to see Shadow recover.

When she climbed behind the steering wheel, Xander noticed a duffel bag on the passenger seat. Instantly, she knew what Shadow had planned.

* * *

With every passing minute, the sky began to brighten as the night drew to a close. The predawn light would soon banish the night and bring with it the life of Gotham's citizens.

A woman, dressed in a deep purple coat, gazed at the sky, her eyes dark and devoid of life's light. She stood in the dead center of an alley in the Narrows, an alley that held no meaning to anyone else. In her right hand, she held her Slavic pistol, ready for use. In her left hand, she held a cell phone, the screen turning dark after use. She allowed it to slip from her grasp, to clatter on the ground, the sound echoing in the empty alley. Lifting her left foot, she stepped on it heavily, snapping it and grinding it underfoot. When she replaced her foot, the pieces of the smashed phone glinted slightly with the last of its life.

It was her phone, the phone that she had carried through the past year since she first came to Gotham City. Now, it no longer served its purpose.

Shadow's eyes hadn't moved from the sky. Behind her, Harley Quinn struggled against her rope bindings, rubbing her face against the brick wall in hopes of tearing off the tape.

_It would be easy to escape duct tape. Just lick it._ At the thought, Shadow smiled but didn't look at Harley, a slight look of disgust crossing her face.

A macabra laugh echoed in the alley, and in a flash, Shadow's expression cleared of emotion, her dark eyes narrowing at the man clad in purple.

"I got your _call_-ah," the Joker said, confidently. "I _knew_ you'd come around and realize your mistake." He sauntered into the alley.

"Is that what you think I called you here for?" Shadow asked, her voice even. "To come back to here?"

"Of course," the Clown Prince of Crime exclaimed, throwing his arms out wide. "Why else?"

Shadow didn't respond, instead lifting her Slavic and holding it gently in both of her hands. The Joker narrowed his eyes at her, half-turning his head, but he quickly realized she wasn't going to speak. After a few moments, she aimed her Slavic in the air and fired.

"What are you doing?" the Joker growled, angrily.

"Calling your bat friend," Shadow told him simply.

Something registered in the Joker's mind, and he stepped forward threateningly. Seeing it, Shadow aimed at Harley and fired again. A short cry escaped Harley before she fainted, blood trickling from a scratch on her right temple.

"Shadow," the Joker growled. He took another step, and this time, Shadow fired at him. He grunted as the bullet hit his arm. "What is the _meaning_ of this?" he demanded, grasping his wound.

"Usually, you would have laughed," Shadow said, her voice quiet. "If someone hit you, you would laugh the pain off and then hit them back twice as hard. The Joker, the psychopath that everyone is afraid of, certainly isn't laughing now." She glanced at her Slavic, sliding a finger along its side. "You're dead," she said, "And have been for a long time."

"I'm not," the Joker insisted angrily. "I'm living and breathing right here."

"I wasn't referring to _you_, Joker. I meant _Jack Napier_."

Fury flashed across his face, and he lunged. Shadow fired yet again, this time catching his kneecap. He fell and landed on it, a loud gasp of pain escaping his scarred mouth.

Shadow slowly advanced. "I called you here," she began and then paused as she kicked the Joker in the chest, knocking him backward. "To tell you that I'm dead too." She stood over him, her dark eyes boring into his. "Sara Reynolds is dead."

He lurched for her, but she lightly stepped out of his reach. The movement caused pain to shoot from his wounds, and the Joker grinded his teeth in frustration.

Shadow fired another shot into the sky and then lowered it until it trained on the Joker's chest. The Joker laid there, still except for the heavy heaving of his chest, his eyes flashing as she steadily stared him down. Neither spoke a word.

A shadow descended from the rooftop and landed mere yards away from them. Shadow's eyes finally lifted, taking in the black figure as he straightened.

A chuckle emanated from the Joker. "Welcome to the party, _Batsy_."

Batman ignored him, meeting Shadow's gaze. "You shouldn't do that."

"I shouldn't," she said, "But I just might. It would be what he deserves after all he's put me through." She shook her head quickly. "No, actually, it's not. He doesn't deserve the easy way out. Which is why I'll do this instead." She lowered her aim and then fired.

A cry broke through the laughter as blood burst from the Joker's abdomen. Batman lurched forward in an attempt to grab Shadow, but she used her ability without hesitation, taking his place when he first arrived.

"He'll survive if you bring him straight to the hospital," she told Batman. He turned, and she gestured to the Joker who was trying too hard to laugh off the agony. "I called in a favor with an old friend," she continued. "My existence will be wiped, and I'll disappear from Gotham. Never to return."

"He's not going to let you go," Batman said gruffly.

"I told you that _before_ I reached my breaking point. Now, I'm beyond that point." Shadow raised a hand, and the shadow at her feet, created by a dim streetlight across the road, stretched in a blink of an eye. The Joker's eyes widened, and a single, short scream escaped the clown's scarred mouth before he went silent. "Memories are shadows," Shadow said. "And now, his shadows of me don't exist."

She glanced at her hand as Batman straightened. "Believe me, Bruce, I _am_ leaving." She lifted her gaze as she closed her hand. "And yes, I know who you are, and no, _he_ certainly didn't hear it." She dropped her hand and finally slipped her Slavic into her pocket, proclaiming she was finished. "Consider me gone," she told Batman, and then, she slipped into a nearly hidden side alley before she shadowed.

She appeared across the street from Xander's parked Hyundai. As if sensing her presence, her friend glanced in her direction and then gave her a wave, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

Shadow didn't move right away. Her eyes remained dark as she lifted her gaze again toward the sky. The darkness, she would later decide, was a testament to what she had suffered.

As of that moment, she didn't know if she would ever fully recover, but as she finally made her decision to advance toward her friend's car, Shadow's eyes lightened partly, a speck in her iris that reflected a small bit of life.


	42. Epilogue

_I had the objective set in my mind. There were four targets, four men who had infected my life for too long. Peter Sullivan. Jason Hawkins. Andrew Tew. And of course, Jack Napier._

_Xander and Scarecrow had put me into a coma so that the fear toxin in my system would run its course. It had been terrible when I went under, but it was worse when I awoke._

_And the first face I saw was Peter Sullivan's._

_The fear toxins had enhanced my shadowing ability. I convinced him that I was still sitting in the electric chair when I actually stood up on the higher platform, looking down on him and my solid shadow._

_I was nothing more than an observer as I watched the scene unfold below me. Dean Ledger bursting in, trying to save me. The death of my dog Prince. My shadow being electrocuted. And the worst part, I felt the voltage through my own body. It was only the pain, not the actual damage, but it was enough to counteract the effects of the fear toxin._

_Finally, Xander's bullet found Peter's head. It was that moment that everything clicked in my mind._

_I needed to escape the clutches of the men who have held me back and ruined everything for me. And the only guaranteed way to do that was to kill them, one by one._

_Xander had killed Peter Sullivan. Andrew Tew conveniently showed up and attempted to kill Xander while her attention was drawn to the electrocution of my shadow. I put a bullet through his head. Two done, two more._

_I summoned the police to the power plant, calling out for Jason Hawkins. I gave them a chance to reveal to me that he was there but soon grew impatient. They fired, and I shadowed every time, avoiding the bullets and making my way to him. I invited the police inside and then took Jason to his death in the electric chair._

_The cops recovered faster than I had expected. Of course, his suffering had to end if I wanted to complete it. And I heard the police about to catch Xander so I took her back to her car, asking of her one more favor._

_I stopped by another friend's, asking the Riddler to delete the background he had given to aid setting me up as a detective. I asked him to go further and delete everything on me. That way I had a chance._

_Then, I came across Harley. And I simply _couldn't. Resist.

_I found an alley and called the Joker. Of course, he believed I had recovered from my delusion of not loving him, but you know, overall, he was the one with the delusion. I would have killed him, if I hadn't summoned Batman to keep me in line._

_And I did something that I hadn't thought of doing. I erased his memories of me, including those in his childhood. I wanted to be rid of any connection he could possibly make because I was done._

_In one night, I had purged myself of the four that I believed were responsible for the utter ruin of my year in Gotham City. Now, I can never return to that beautiful city. Instead, I have moved on; I left with Xander and Dean that night, taking Scout and picking up Crane along the way. Crane surprisingly had no objection to leaving as long as I contacted the Riddler once more and deleted everything on the Scarecrow._

_Six months have passed. The last I heard about the Joker was that he had recovered from the gunshot wound and had returned to terrorizing Gotham City with Harley Quinn at his side. The only other news I had heard from the city was the near disappearance of the Batman. Retiring, Bruce?_

* * *

My fingers rested on the keyboard, one tapping gently to the basic rhythm of a heartbeat. I stared at the computer screen, mind empty of any thoughts. It took a few moments to realize this, and then a minute passed as I attempted to draw my attention back to reality. Then, my fingers moved.

_It has been six months since I left Gotham. It's been rough. Dean, Xander, Jon, and I rented an apartment together as a way to start out. We've managed so far, getting jobs and progressing slowly. Shall we go down the list about everyone?_

_Xander found herself a basic photography job at a photo studio, and she and I have a bet going to see how long before her manager drives her to quit. I claimed a seven months, and she's getting really irritated with the man so I think it's only a matter of time now. Her mood swings are awful to handle, especially for Dean. She's about five months pregnant so what can you expect? _

_Dean's landed himself a job as a mechanic. He has the mind to fix everything, and generally, if he's not working in the shop, he's working on Xander's car. He's tried to convince her to let him attempt converting it so she doesn't need gas, but she's refused, threatening to blast his other kneecap if he did something to her car. Because he had used his leg while it was broken, it was a difficult fix for the doctors so he is perpetually stuck with having to use a cane._

_Jon immediately got a job at the local university, teaching Psychology, which of course a newborn could guess. He seems to be enjoying it, but I wonder how long it will take for him to start experimenting on some of his smartass students. He's excited about being a dad. It has somewhat cooled his need to be my psychiatrist, which I've refused many times, and I still catch him muttering things under his breath about my condition. He's received a good number of bruises from me whenever Xander wasn't looking, despite her agreeing with me about how psychiatrists could make the situation worse._

_Scout gave birth to Prince's pups a month and a half after we left. Seven adorable pups, all healthy. Dean and I named two of them after our two loyal dogs, Buddy and Prince. Little Prince looks very similar to his father so it seemed fitting. And Buddy fits our old dog; he's a very quiet but obedient pup, but that's only for while he's young. Things might change once he's older._

_We've offered Xander a couple of the pups to keep whenever we moved out and found our own place. She and Jon are still arguing about it, but so far, she's managed to convince him that he's fond of at least one that we named Fear. She's a cute little devil who's taken to popping out of nowhere to scare Jon, and it's quite possible he sprayed her once or twice with his fear toxin._

_As for me, I'm steady. I suppose Dr. Young's idea of a journal has kept me going. And I call her Dr. Young because that's more of how I remember her. Yes, she was Raven too, but honestly, I last knew her as Teresa Young._

_I still haven't found a job, but that's mainly because I'm not willing to put forth much effort. That's basically left me at home, doing the shopping, training the pups, cooking the meals, and cleaning the house. Jon argues that I should focus more on my recovery from the fear toxin anyway, although I see no point. My eyes are still the darker blue from their original color, but Dean says that they have gotten lighter when I was happy._

_It's been a trial for Dean mostly, seeing me as I am now. I'm barely half of what I could be. Jon suggested depression medication, but Xander immediately told him no, that I was strong enough to get through it without them. I half-agreed with her, but I've found a way to manage._

_I used to read a lot as a kid, and because of that, I enjoyed a book club at the local library. Both Xander and Dean agreed that it might be a good idea for me to have a common interest with other people and to use it as a method. Of course, Jon thought it wasn't the best for me, to which I reminded him I wasn't his patient._

_I went to the book club every week, reading the books they read and more. After a few months, I realized it wasn't working anymore. I still go to it because of the enjoyment of reading and being able to talk about the books with others, but I've turned to a new method._

_I've been writing, and it's not just the writing in my journal. No, it's writing stories. I've finished one, about two months back, and am currently working on the ending of another. It's the titles that get me. Chapter titles are much easier to work with because they only have to portray whatever goes on in that said chapter. A book title calls for a deeper meaning throughout the book._

"Shadow?" I stopped typing, drawing gradually out of my thoughts. By the time I returned to reality, Dean had reached me and had his hands on my shoulders, his lips pressed against my cheek. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I told him, lifting a hand and running it through his hair.

"Did you manage a nap earlier?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Why must you insist on those?"

"Because you don't sleep well anymore." Dean crouched beside me and cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I figure naps are short enough that you won't have time to dream."

"Everyone dreams, Dean. They just don't always remember them." I half-turned in my chair and placed my hands on either side of his face. "I'll be fine, Dean. I kept myself busy."

"More writing?" he asked, his eyes drifting to my screen.

I held him firmly and frowned. "No looking until it's finished," I scolded him, and he laughed, taking my hands and kissing each sweetly. Then, he raised himself and pressed his lips to mine in a gentle but passionate kiss.

"Shadow! Dean! Dinner!" Xander's voice carried up the stairs, and I chuckled as Dean pulled away with a sigh.

"I can't wait to get my own place," Dean said.

"Keep telling yourself that," I told him, humorously. "When we got our own place, the quiet will drive you nuts." He shrugged and leaned in for another kiss.

"Don't make me send the troops," Xander threatened.

"I swear, it's like she has this sixth sense," Dean said, breaking away again.

"It's the mother sense," I explained. "Let her send the troops." I pulled him back into a more passionate kiss.

And true to her word, Xander sent the troops upstairs. Six of Scout's pups came racing up the stairs and charged into our bedroom. Four pounced on Dean's vulnerable legs, but Buddy and Prince attacked my shoes. With a laugh, I saved my document, closed my laptop, and then left Dean to his fate with the other four puppies while I led the calmer ones downstairs again.

"Took you long enough," Xander said, grudgingly as she munched on some chips.

"Fish and chips, eh?" I asked.

"Only part of the meal. Where's Dean?"

"I left him to the troops."

Xander smirked. "He better be careful. Ginger's taken to biting."

"So I've noticed." Xander and I laughed at the expression on his face while he held Ginger in his hands. She had her mouth on his finger.

"Come and get your plate, you two," Xander ordered.

As we sat eating, Xander asked, "How's the book coming along?"

"It's nearing the end. I'm still debating changing the ending."

"Any particular reason?" Dean asked.

I shrugged. "Seems like I could make a better ending out of it by killing off the main character."

Dean swallowed his piece of food. "I'm just curious. Do you regret anything from what happened?"

I hesitated, taking the time to eat a bit while I wondered about the question. Finally, I said, "No. A lot of good came out of it. I found friendship in Xander." I placed a hand on his. "And I found love in you."

"What'd you find in me?" Jon asked, feeling left out.

I fixed him with a straight look and said, "I found my perpetual pain in my ass who will never stop trying to use his psychiatrist-ness on me." Xander and Dean laughed, but Jon took it with a shrug, merely accepting his role in my life.

"Have you thought of titles for either book?" Xander asked.

"I have, but haven't quite settled on anything. After all, it's hard to label a year of my life after breaking into two pieces." I shrugged. "I figured I'd connect the two though, through the titles. The main character is me, but as Shadow. And it'd make sense to keep that as the main idea."

"So what are they?" Jon asked. "And I'm not trying to be psychiatrist on you."

I smiled and then said, "I was thinking of calling them _Joker's Shadow_ and _Shadow's City_."

* * *

**Lordlink13: And there is it, my readers. The end of Shadow's stories. Hope you all enjoyed it! Like I said, I'm not taking any story requests, and there's a chance I'm going to simply retire from Fanfiction. _Shadow's City_ has taken a lot of work; I've restarted it three or four times in three years. Now, it's finished, and I'm more proud of it than I would have been had I stuck with the original story plans. Now, my dear readers, Keep Calm and Carry On.**


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